


Now and Then and Now and Later

by takumiismypatronus



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bob and Alicia ship Zimbits, Break Up, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor References to Hockey, Social Media, boys being stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:03:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6721057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takumiismypatronus/pseuds/takumiismypatronus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things Jack didn't like about his life <em>then:</em> his game, his girlfriend, his drinking. His breakup with Bittle.</p><p>Bitty didn't have it easy <em>then</em> either. He struggled with classes, with hockey, with his family.</p><p>But maybe if they can work it out <em>now,</em> they'll get to be together again <em>later.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Now and Then and Now and Later

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Lucy for the beta. Any remaining mistakes, inconsistencies, or confusion are on me.
> 
> Additional thanks to Ngozi, creator of Check, Please!, and the many artists and writers her comic has inspired.
> 
> Warnings for the use of the word _c**ksucker,_ a less than favorable response to coming out, and offscreen homophobic violence. (Specific, spoilery details in the End Notes.)
> 
> This was started prior to Goodbye for the Summer Parts I and II (The Kiss!) and adjusted to reflect the new reality. It diverges from canon at that point, so the Falconers and Samwell tadpoles mentioned are my own creation.

 

# Part 1

**Later**

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 10 May 2017

Truck is packed. I’m moving north. How is this my life?

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 22 May 2017

Congratulations Samwell College class of 2017!

 

**Now**

**April 2016**

 

The night after he gets dumped, Petey and Finny, Jack’s linemates, take him out to drown his sorrows.

Jack orders scotch, says “make it a double” like a film noir antihero.

“So what happened, Zimm?” Petey finally asks. Jack thinks he only asks because Meagan is friendly with Petey’s wife. She might have even put him up to it. Otherwise he wouldn’t pry.

“Yeah, it seemed like it was goin’ real good,” Finny says, and Jack sees the funny look Petey gives him. “What?!” Finny asks. “Asshole. They looked fine to me.”

“Bro, you don’t know anything. Have you ever even had a girlfriend?”

Finny glares at Petey, but doesn’t say anything more.

Jack is used to their bickering and lets it flow over him as he finishes his liquor and indicates to the waitress that he’ll have another.

“I called her by someone else’s name,” he admits, though he knows that’s far from the whole story.

“Broooooo.” Finny draws it out, Minnesota long. “That’s harsh! Don’t tell us you were in the sack.”

Jack shakes his head. It had been the kitchen, and that somehow seems like more of a betrayal. Who he’s betrayed, he’s not exactly sure.

“So, what did you call her?”

He’s already had enough to drink that he answers truthfully, the name getting somewhat lost in the Friday night bar noise.

“Betty?!” Petey exclaims. “Who the fuck is named Betty?” He runs through all the Bettys he can think of: “Betty Crocker? Betty Rubble? Betty White!”

Jack’s head is now buzzing pleasantly, but his stomach swoops when he glances up to find Finny staring at him hard, pulling on his bottom lip as if there is something literally on the tip of his tongue that he’s trying to grab hold of.

“Is she eighty?!” Petey’s chirp makes Finny laugh and break eye contact. They move on to speculation about the playoffs, with Petey and Finny debating whether or not the Aces have a chance this year, but Finny keeps looking over at Jack as if that’s going to make all the puzzle pieces fit together. Jack’s hoping they never do.

Jack really does like his teammates. These guys are his closest friends and he appreciates their effort to cheer him up. But the thing is, this breakup with Meagan doesn’t make Jack feel sad, or angry, or even all that guilty. Mostly he just feels relieved.

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 15 April 2016

Just made the second most significant decision of my life.

 

**Then**

**April 2015**

 

Just before the championship finals, Shitty and Jack took a study break in the Reading Room. Bitty was on his bed with the window open and their soft voices carried on the cool spring breeze. “So you’re just going to ignore your feelings, brah? There’s only a month left. You should talk to him.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

There was a long pause and then Shitty’s voice again, incredulous. “You oblivious motherfucker. You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Jack sounded honestly perplexed.

“You guys,” Shitty said sadly, “could have been great together.”

This must be about Kent Parson and the Aces, Bitty thought. He’d heard enough stories to know Jack and Kent had been an incredible hockey duo—and what he’d overheard in December made him think they had history off the ice as well. While Bitty sure didn’t want Jack to move away to Las Vegas, he also didn’t want Jack to lose his shot at happiness.

The whole situation made Bitty feel pretty sorry for himself. The only thing more stupid than falling for a straight guy was continuing to obsess over a queer guy who wasn’t interested.

So a few weeks later, when Garrett caught Bitty’s eye from across the living room of the Haus, he didn’t think twice. Bitty had seen him around campus this semester, but they hadn’t talked. They waded through the crowd toward each other and met near the bottom of the stairs to the second floor. Even though their freshman year thing had ended nearly a year ago, and Garrett had spent last semester in Austria, it was easy to just lean against the wall, Bitty’s shoulder pushed against Garrett’s bicep, and shoot shit about nothing in particular.

“Sorry about the loss. Everyone hoped you guys would go all the way,” Garrett said after a while, leaning down to speak into Bitty’s ear in order to be heard over the _whump whump whump_ of Holster’s playlist.

That was nice to hear, particularly from a member of the lacrosse team, but Bitty just shrugged and they tapped their solo cups together at the brims in solidarity. It had been a hard loss, but between catching up on his neglected schoolwork and coaxing Betsy along, he hadn’t had time to dwell on it. Besides, he knew he’d have another chance next year.

Garrett finished his beer and leaned in again. “Want to get out of here?”

And Bitty was so grateful that there was no question of does-he-or-doesn’t-he, that he allowed Garrett to lead him by the belt loop through the kitchen and out the back door.

“Yeah, get ‘em, Bits!” Shitty yelled and when Bitty looked up, flushed from tub juice and the promise of what he knew would be an excellent blow job, he saw Jack looking his way, his face as inscrutable as ever.

* * *

 **Sun, Apr 19, 2015** 10:22 AM

 **Lardo:** Any chance you’re making breakfast? I’d be happy to haul my ass to the Haus.

 **Lardo:** To help.

 **Lardo:** Frogs are on cleanup and Dex says it’s mostly done.

 **Bitty:** I’m not there.

 **Lardo:** ERIC BITTLE!!!

 **Lardo:** Have you been getting laid, Bitty?

 **Bitty:** A Southern gentleman does not kiss and tell. [winky emoji]

 

# Part 2

**Now**

**April 2016**

 

“I’m not using again,” Jack says to George, a bit defensively. That one time doesn’t really count.

His disappointing rookie season is over and he should go to Montreal to see his parents, but instead he’s hardly left his apartment. His mother is threatening to come to Providence, but each time she mentions it, he glues a fake smile to his face and hopes it can be heard in his voice. “Everything’s fine, _maman_ ,” he lies. “Losing is hard. Breaking up is hard. You know that I’d tell you if I really had problems.”

Now he’s in George’s office, summoned for Real Talk, capital letters implied. He took a shower and shaved this morning for the first time in several days, but he knows he still looks like crap. “I don’t keep anything like that in my house.” It’s the truth.

“And your liquor cabinet?” she asks. “What’s the turnover rate on that these days?”

Jack takes a deep breath. It’s so much easier to be confronted than it is to confess. He appreciates that Georgia’s looking out for him, though this talk might have been better six months ago. It surprises him that he’s gotten away with it for so long, since she always seems to know what’s going on with her players, sometimes even before they do. “Hi, I’m Jack and I’m an addict,” he intones as he’s done so many times in the past seven years. “And possibly an alcoholic.”

“Okay,” George says, her eyes going soft. “Thank you for that. Now let’s get you some help.”

They need him, Jack knows. Even cracking under the pressure, he’s still the juggernaut of the Falconers’ offensive line. And although they didn’t make the playoffs, the team showed continual improvement this year and everyone is optimistic for next season. He just hopes he can pull himself together in time to be part of it.

 

Jack’s bedroom at his parents’ house reminds him of peewee hockey. Before the overdose, before the Q—before Kent—he remembers playing on his peewee team, his mom chauffeuring him to practices and games. The pressure then was still manageable. Even with the last name of Zimmermann.

Then, years later, as he recovered, it was all about peewees a second time. Coaching those kids reminded him what he loved about the game. Helped him find his focus; led him to Samwell.

And here he is yet again. Same bedroom, same anxieties, different substance being abused. He will always be an addict, but he doesn’t have to let it rule his life.

He puts his duffle bag on the bed and pulls out his phone to send a text: _I’m in_ _Montréal_. Then he goes to find his parents.

“ _Maman_ , _papa_ , I need to talk to you. Together.

* * *

**\--SMH Group Chat--**

**Sun, Apr 24, 2016** 12:54 PM

 **Ransom:** So Bits, are you a carbon sample?

 **Bitty:** ???

 **Ransom:** Because I heard Lucas Walkowski wants to date you.

 **Bitty:** It’s not like that. [blushing emoji]

 **Holster:** So you’re just hoping to screw him on a table, periodically?

 **Ransom:** Nice one, Holtzy.

 **Ransom:** Is he a diamond? Because I heard you gave him a hardness of 10.

 **Bitty:** Oh my god! Shut up! Both of you!

 **Nursey:** What’s all this?

 **Holster:** Bitty hooked up with a chem major at Spring C.

 **Dex:** So first the lax bro and now this? Dude.

 **Shitty:** No slut shaming! Don’t make me come back there

 **Bitty:** Thank you, Shitty.

 **Lardo:** Yeah, there’s no shame in being a slut.

 

**Then**

**May 2015**

 

The Haus was empty when Bitty got back after the commencement ceremony. He’d sent the other guys off with ziplock bags filled with cookies: molasses crinkles and oatmeal chocolate chip. He’d emptied the fridge and cleaned the kitchen— and just maybe whispered to the beautiful new oven that he’d be back in August.

He had finished packing; his shuttle would be coming within the hour. Bitty gave Señor Bunny a squeeze and tucked him into the front pocket of his suitcase and then turned to look across the hall at Jack’s room. Nothing of Jack was left. The hot prickle behind his cheekbones became full on tears.

Chowder had dumped his cold weather clothes in a heap on the bed before heading back to California for the summer. With nothing else to do, Bitty put on some music and started folding the laundry. Sharks hoodie. Sharks t-shirt. Another Sharks hoodie. A winter sweater that surprisingly had nothing to do with the San Jose Sharks. It wasn’t enough, though, to take his mind off how everything was changing. And how nothing was changing at all.

Jack would be just 40 minutes down I-95, a rookie playing hockey for the Falconers. Bitty would be an upperclassman playing hockey for Samwell. Jack would continue to be unobtainable; Bitty would continue to crush. Everything. Nothing.

With his earbuds in, Bitty didn’t hear the front door slam open, Jack’s frantic footsteps on the wooden stairs, his frustrated exhale when the room was empty. So he was taken completely by surprise when Jack touched his elbow, turned him around, called him _Bitty_.

Kissed him.

He didn’t know how Jack could smell just like Bitty’s idea of Canada, but he did. Crisp northern winters and evergreens and snow. It made him shiver—in the best way. And Jack looked at him like he was Jack’s idea of the deep South—peach-sweet and warm and languid. Like Bitty was syrup that Jack wanted to taste. right. now.

So that’s how everything really did change. In a moment. Without warning.

 

Bitty had a hard time believing that this, that _Jack_ , could happen for _him_. He sank to a chair, speechless. The buzzing in his head sounded a lot like _zzzzzzzzziiiiiiimmmmzzzzzzzzz._

He realized with a start that the noise wasn’t in his head. His phone indicated an incoming text. Jack couldn’t have gotten all the way back to Lake Quad by now, could he? Not unless Bitty had been sitting here stunned for more than ten minutes, which…certainly might be the case. Jack was stunning.

 _I really like you_ , Bitty read.

Oh my god, he thought, _this boy_.

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 26 June 2015

Jack: Seven sleeps until I’m in Georgia.

Um, you mean a week? Silly Canadian.

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 30 June 2015

Jack: So will there be pie at this Independence Day picnic?

Mr. Zimmermann, you wound me.

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 1 July 2015

Happy Canada Day to our northern friends! Maybe next year I’ll get to celebrate Canada Day IN CANADA. [fireworks emoji] [heart emoji]

 

# Part 3

**Now**

**May 2016**

 

The weeks between Spring C and graduation pass in a blur. The weather is perfect, sunny and warm all day, then cooling off enough in the evening that Bitty sleeps comfortably, his window open, but the blinds down.

His finals go about as well as could be expected. Which is to say that he passes his classes. He sells his old textbooks by putting an ad on the Wellist, Samwell’s campus-wide electronic classified ads site. In a fit of bravado, and concern about money, he offers pies for sale and banks a couple of hundred dollars. His baked goods have a reputation.

So much has happened in the last twelve months that watching the class of 2016 graduate is almost as emotional for Bitty as Jack and Shitty crossing the stage the year before. Bitty swears he’s experienced the greatest possible joy and the most heart-breaking pain of his entire life between the brackets of these two ceremonies.

Bitty gives his key to Wicks and moves his boxes into Shitty’s apartment in Cambridge—now Shitty and Lardo’s apartment. Both bedrooms are being used as bedrooms, so he crashes on the couch. It’s not ideal, but he makes up for it by cooking dinner every night—and, of course, doing a lot of baking.

Shitty and Lardo are gone during the day. Shitty has a summer internship and Lardo spends a lot of her time at her parents’ house, where she’s converted her childhood room into an art studio. The commute between the two places isn’t ideal, but she borrows Shitty’s old Accord when she needs to transport large canvases or trash that might someday become a sculpture. A couple of times Bitty goes to Woburn with her and spends the day in the kitchen with Lardo’s gran, learning to make _bánh cam_ , fried sesame balls.

Bitty knows he doesn’t want to stay in Massachusetts for long, though. He considers moving to New Orleans and even brainstorms some vlog ideas: king cakes and beignets, bananas Foster and bread pudding with bourbon sauce. But honestly, he’s a little homesick, and Savannah, Hostess City of the South, is close enough to Madison that he might get to see his mama every once in a while.

An animator friend of Lardo’s connects him with a roommate—and an apartment that has a kitchen with a skylight. He moves in on the first of July and tries not to think about it being Canada Day.

* * *

From **Butter vs Lard** , Eric Bittle’s video blog, June 21, 2016:

_Happy first day of summer! This is the first summer in years that I haven’t been a camp counselor. You may be wondering what I’m doing with my life instead…And you wouldn’t be the only one!_

_Actually, I do finally have a plan. It involves a historic city in the South, a job icing cakes, weekly skating and a ton of baking. I’ll be so busy, I won’t even realize that I’m not going back to school in August._

_I hope._

_It’s not going to be easy, but I really do think a year off will do me good. As you know, this past year was rougher than a slide made of sandpaper._

_But what do we do when things get us down? That’s right, bakers gonna bake, bake, bake!_

_So y’all remember sweet goalie Chowder’s girlfriend? Yes, the very same one from his freshman year. Well, last week she emailed me this recipe for lavender lemon bars that are to. die. for. Now, I normally think that lavender makes things taste like soap, but these are delectable and look so pretty…_

 

**Then**

**July 2015**

 

Madison was stifling—the weather, sure, but also the general culture. Bitty wore shorts that grazed his knees and t-shirts that gave him a hideous tan line. He had left his short shorts and tanks back at Samwell. There was no way he wanted to be that exposed in his hometown. Literally or figuratively.

Bitty’s mama was thrilled when he asked if Jack could spend the Fourth of July with them—so thrilled that she insisted on joining Bitty when he picked Jack up at the airport in Atlanta. Bitty understood completely why he and Jack had to give each other meant-for-public bro hugs, but it still hurt when Suzanne thought nothing of standing on her tiptoes to ruffle Jack’s hair affectionately and peck his cheek.

They went to the picnic at the cultural center, where there were no fewer than three flavors of Bittle-made pie, just as Bitty had promised. And he had to fend off half a dozen girls who hadn’t given him the time of day in high school but suddenly were all “Heeeeyyyy, Eric. Who’s your friend?” That night, after Jack went to sleep in the sewing/guest room, Bitty lay awake, his mind spinning with fantasies that definitely did not involve his parents being in the room next door. And if he reached into his shorts and thought about Jack, well, it wasn’t the first time. And now it was allowed, right?

The Fourth itself was…fine. Bitty helped Jack set up an Instagram account and Jack charmed Mrs. Butler, the neighbor, by coaxing her Papillon out from under the porch—in French. Coach grilled burgers and didn’t blink when Jack handed Bitty a beer. They watched the fireworks together in Heritage Park, all four of them on a blanket, Bitty not daring to even brush his hand against Jack’s.

By the next morning, Bitty was desperate. “Jack and I have Samwell hockey business to discuss—I’ll drive him,” he said, when his mama asked what time they should leave for the airport. She looked between the two of them and, to his surprise, backed off.

Bitty drove Coach’s old pickup with the bench seat and Jack spent ninety minutes sitting so close that Bitty had to reach between Jack’s legs to grab the stick shift. “Oh my lord, mister, you are severely testing my restraint.” Jack just grinned.

Bitty parked under the hot sun on the very top of the garage, far from any other cars, and slid onto Jack’s lap. “Four weeks,” Jack whispered between kisses, “and we’ll be all alone.”

“Thank god! I can’t wait to get my mouth on your dick.” And Bitty laughed out loud at Jack’s astonished expression.

* * *

Originally posted July 4, 2015:

 

# Part 4

**Now**

**July 2016**

 

Jack watches the Providence fireworks from the balcony of his condo. He particularly likes the ones that burst and then crackle. And the true blue ones, because they’re the most rare. He considers getting his camera, but he’s not sure where it is exactly. He hasn’t used it since…mid-October? Probably when they played the Habs the day after (Canadian) Thanksgiving and he spent an afternoon at his parents’ house eating leftover turkey sandwiches.

He’s feeling more like himself again. Finally. He attends a Narcotics Anonymous group that meets in the afternoon, and it’s comforting to drink crappy decaf with people who are as fucked up as he is. He’d hated meetings after his OD, when he was just 18 and felt like he had thrown away his future and nothing would ever be good again. But now he knows what happiness is like. And he’s fighting his way back to it.

As the smoke from the finale dissipates, he makes a long overdue phone call. “Hey, Shitty,” Jack says when his friend answers.

“Samwell’s prodigal son is reaching out? An actual phone call? To someone who thought they were supposed to be motherfucking platonic life partners?” Shitty doesn’t sound amused. He doesn’t even sound high.

“I know I’ve been a bit out of contact…”

Shitty cuts him off. “God damn, Jack. A few months ago I had to drive down to Providence to make sure you were fucking alive.”

“I’m on tv all the time…” Jack starts.

“Not the point! I mean, I know you said you want to handle things on your own, but it’s been killing me! When I asked you to at least text me, I didn’t know that’s all I’d ever get.”

“Pull your head out of your ass and start being a friend again!” Jack hears Lardo shout from a distance. He assumes she means him, not Shitty.

Jack listens patiently as Shitty rants for close to five minutes, hardly taking a breath: families of choice and having each other’s backs and isolation’s effect on mental health and hockey-playing robots and ignoring friends’ graduations.

“I’m going to meetings again,” he says quietly when there’s a break in Shitty’s tirade. “Apparently it’s not healthy to drink alone until you pass out.”

He hears Shitty’s deep exhale, can imagine the way his cheeks puff. “Brah. I can be there in an hour and a half.”

“Don’t you have classes? Internship? Tomorrow’s a Tuesday.” There’s a pause on the other end, so Jack knows that Shitty really can’t drop everything to come to Rhode Island. Which isn’t what Jack had in mind anyway. “Actually, Shits, I called to see if could come stay with you guys for a few days.”

“Of course. Any time, man.”

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 4 July 2016

Remember when Jack spent last Fourth of July in Georgia? Yeah, me too.

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 4 July 2016

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* sparkle *:･ﾟ✧*:!!!ﾟ✧ BOOM ✧ﾟ!!! : *✧ﾟ･:* fade *:ﾟ･✧* :ﾟ.･ . . die . . .

 

**Then**

**August 2015**

 

On Jack’s birthday, Bitty flew to Boston on his return ticket, and then immediately took the train to Providence. Jack had barely closed his door before Bitty launched himself at Jack, all tan arms and strong legs and hot mouth and hard…Jack groaned. “Bedroom,” he said, and picked Bitty up under his ass and carried him there.

Jack had expected Bitty to be a talker, but he was just moans and sighs, and focused in a way that Jack had rarely seen off the ice—or outside the kitchen. Jack was the one who kept up a reverent litany of endearments and affirmations, liberally peppered with requests for consent.

“I’ve been thinking…yeah, like that… _mon cher_ …are you sure?...that’s perfect…I want this…so hot, Bitty…don’t want to hurt you…can I just?”

“Good lord, Jack,” Bitty finally said, breathless. “Yes, the answer is yes! Please fuck me! I’m not some blushing virgin, you know.”

And that made Jack’s thoughts stumble. Twice. Because Bitty wanted to be fucked and because Jack actually didn’t know Bitty’s sexual history. He’d never really given any thought to Bitty having been with anyone else, and probably that was a conversation they should have already had. But he obviously wasn’t hesitant, and Jack allowed himself to have exactly what would make him happy. For once.

The whole week moved too fast. They ran together in the mornings, then Jack had practice and Bitty made use of the kitchen. When he came home, the whole house smelled like sugar and vanilla and Jack thought he’d never smelled anything better. And then they toppled back into bed to discover what they liked. (Everything.)

One day when he got back from the rink, Jack handed Bitty something stuffed in a plastic bag printed with the Falcs’ logo. “Merch just got these. I thought you might want one.” And there was absolutely no reason to feel shy about it, but he did.

Bitty pulled out a Providence Falconers jersey with _Zimmermann_ emblazoned across the shoulders over the number 15. “Oh, my god, Jack,” Bitty squeaked. “That’s my…” He threw himself into Jack’s arms and Jack held on as tight as possible. He never wanted to let go.

 

Jack’s apartment seemed emptier than ever the afternoon he returned from taking Bitty back to the Haus. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do this. Samwell wasn’t far away, but their game schedules didn’t sync well this fall. And it’s not like they could be seen together too much anyway.

The day before, Bitty had made a bunch of different pies and had him rate the piecrusts. There was a bottle of vodka left in the cabinet from making Crust B, so Jack poured himself some. It burned in his throat, but by the time he poured himself more, he’d started feeling like maybe he could deal with everything after all: pro hockey and living alone. Keeping a secret boyfriend on the side.

* * *

From **Butter vs Lard** , Eric Bittle’s video blog, August 11, 2015:

_Welcome to Butter Versus Lard, now with more actual baking!_

_You see, I spent the summer doing some strategic planning for this channel—you probably noticed my new intro. I also got a higher quality video camera, so expect production value to be on the rise. (Haha, that’s a baking pun.)_

_I’m going to stick to a schedule as well, posting videos every Tuesday. I know that the vlog plus school plus hockey plus…other stuff, is a lot. But I’m confident I can handle it._

_If you also follow my Twitter, you know that I got a new oven for my birthday--I mean, the_ Haus _got a new oven!—so I can trust that my desserts won’t fail due to a persnickety appliance. That’ll make it possible to actually demonstrate what I’m making. However, I’m not leaving for Samwell until tomorrow, so today’s demonstration—a comparison of four different popular pie crust recipes—was filmed at a dear friend’s place in Rhode Island._

[cut to the end]

_So, remember the perfect piecrust is made with butter AND lard! See you next Tuesday!_

 

# Part 5

**Now**

**July 2016**

 

Pizza requires beer, so Shitty orders Chinese for them instead. Jack has a particular fondness for mu shu pork, while Shitty likes sweet and sour chicken. Lardo is working late at her studio, so they sit on the floor with the coffee table between them and Shitty lets Jack take a second helping before he looks at him expectantly.

After a few false starts, Jack talks, the words spilling from his mouth in a way that only Shitty—or Bittle—can initiate.

He tells Shitty about the breakup with Meagan in April. How the whole relationship felt like a car he wasn’t driving and couldn’t get to slow down. She wanted a declaration, a key, a proposal, a baby. (He wanted Bitty.) He doesn’t mention how _uncomfortable_ he felt with her, how so much of the time it felt like he was wearing the wrong skin—or she was. He prefers not to start another conversation with Shitty about the _ramifications of coercive_ _heteronormativity_ and all that gender and sexuality stuff he loves. There’s time to think about that later.

He confesses that he feels it was his fault that the team hadn’t even made it to playoffs. He’d played well, but not first-draft-pick well. Nothing like Kent Parson’s rookie season that saw the Aces to the finals and Parse winning the Calder. Jack doesn’t feel worthy of the salary he’s earning, not when there’s no hardware to show for it.

He says he started drinking too much as soon as Bittle went back to Samwell, like Bittle’s presence had been the tether to his only sober, functional period of life. “I left Samwell and I felt so adrift. I’ve never felt better than when I was there.”

“College is a weird fucking bubble, man,” Shitty says. “It’s not reality.”

“It felt real. Normal. I had friends?” It should be a statement, not a question, and Jack sees how his phrasing hurts Shitty.

“Of course you had friends. You still have us.”

Jack just shakes his head. He hasn’t seen anyone other than Shitty since the season opener against the Capitals. Then he skipped Samwell’s entire season rather than facing Bittle. He didn’t go to Rans’ and Holster’s and Lardo’s graduation. He can’t just walk back into the Haus, all “didja miss me?” He doesn’t want to be that guy.

“Is everyone doing okay?” Jack asks instead. Shitty makes some complicated face that Jack can’t read and his guts clench. “Tell me. Please.”

“It’s about Bits…”

* * *

From **Butter vs Lard** , Eric Bittle’s video blog, July 5, 2016:

_Hey, y’all. Welcome back to Butter Versus Lard, a Southern baking vlog._

_So you may notice yet another change of scenery. My stay with friends in Boston was short term and I’m now at my new place in Savannah. I have a roommate who is a student at Savannah College of Art and Design and a brand new job in the bakery department of a grocery store!_

_But enough about that! Today, in honor of Savannah, Georgia—and because I’ve been able to buy my own alcohol for exactly two months now—I’m going to skip the baking to make Chatham Artillery Punch._

_The best food—and drink—comes with a story, and this punch is no exception…_

 

**Then**

**August 2015**

 

Jack and Bitty expected the Haus to be empty when they clattered up the stairs to Bitty’s room, a little too loud, a little too handsy.

So they were really surprised when Lardo stuck her head out of her room to see what the commotion was about.

“You’re early!” Bitty gasped.

“Manager stuff,” she explained. And then she gave Bitty (and Jack) a significant stare.

“Um,” Jack said, looking a little nervous. “Bittle?”

“It’s no use, Jack,” Bitty said with a sigh. “She’d know within days anyway. She’s twice as sharp as any of the rest of them.”

“You’d better tell Shitty,” she said, not bothering to agree with Bitty’s assessment of her observation skills.

Jack nodded earnestly. “I will.”

“Carry on then,” Lardo said with a smirk. “I’m going to make myself scarce for a couple hours.”

 

“There’s girl stuff in my bathroom,” Chowder whispered to Bitty about a week after Samwell’s pre-season training had begun. “Tampons!! In a basket on the back of the toilet. In plain sight.”

“Oh my stars, you adorable thing,” Bitty crooned. “Don’t you have a girlfriend? A sister? Do I need to sit you down and explain to you the physical changes that make a young girl blossom into a beautiful woman?”

“Noooo.” Chowder wailed, looking horrified. “I know all that.”

“Grow up, Chow. Farmer probably totally appreciates my ‘girl stuff,’” Lardo said, appearing in the kitchen doorway. “Or switch rooms with Bitty so I share a bathroom with him instead.”

Chowder looked at Bitty hopefully. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I know Jack gave me dibs to his room and that’s some sort of sacred Haus thing and I should stay there, and please don’t tell him about this, but maybe you and Lardo would actually like to share, since you’re more like…”

Bitty and Lardo both raised their eyebrows in alarm, daring Chowder to continue.

He looked stricken. “Sorry, I’m just trying to say that you’re closer friends. Besties.”

Lardo and Bitty looked at each other and seemed to be okay with that assessment. Then Bitty sighed dramatically. “Fine. Whatevs.” He ignored Lardo’s knowing smile.

So Bitty moved into Jack’s old room. And slept in Jack’s old bed. And put his clothes in Jack’s old closet. And hung his new Beyoncé poster where it used to say “Be Better.”

And sometimes he dreamed that they had acted on their feelings earlier, and Jack lay in bed with him. Broad-shouldered and surprisingly talkative, and very, very naked.

Other nights he dreamed that they simply shared a room and a bed, and there was no metaphorical closet, no secrets. On the mornings he woke from those dreams, he laced his skates and warmed up to a playlist he’d named _Sad Songs for Sad Boys._

* * *

Originally posted August 23, 2015:

 

# Part 6

**Now**

**July 2016**

 

The Samwell Men’s Hockey team had always respected Bittle’s boundaries when it came to his vlog. At least Jack had. Holster once admitted that searching YouTube for “Eric Bittle” only got him a dozen videos of juniors’ figure skating, so Jack hadn’t given it more thought. (Although one afternoon he had watched a couple of the skating videos. Fourteen-year old Bittle had a lot of talent. And a lot of sequins.)

But now Jack wants a way to check up on him. Or check in. Something. He’s just not sure how to find a specific video blog on YouTube when no one he asks seems to know the name Bittle is using. So he starts with something simple in the search bar: _baking_. He’s shocked when it brings back more than two million-some videos. _Southern baking_ doesn’t work much better. He’s still looking at a 100 thousand videos.

Jack runs his hand through his hair. There has to be a way to make it more specific. His next idea makes him roll his eyes at himself, but whatever: _Southern baking gay_ , and is rewarded with fewer than 1000 matches. Manageable. He spends the better part of his morning scrolling through twenty pages of videos and channels, sometimes getting distracted by videos like “Shit Southern Gay Guys Say” (inaccurate in his experience), “Shit Canadian Guys Say” (more accurate), and some guy making a peanut butter marshmallow sweet potato pie. No Bittle.

But this last one suggests a different way to go about the search. He types in _maple apple pie._ The very first video is called My Drunk Kitchen, which makes him snort. But it sounds enough like Drunk History that Jack watches it. And then he watches a couple more because this blonde woman is both ridiculous and engaging, although none of her food looks as good as what Bittle made at the Haus.

And then, just before Jack takes a break to fix some lunch and go to his NA meeting, there it is. Bittle’s smiling face is the profile picture for the top comment on a My Drunk Kitchen video about pralines.

Jack clicks Bittle’s vlog name and jackpot! There are about 100 videos dating back to February 2012, when Bittle was a junior in high school. Some of them are clearly baking videos with names like “Coca Cola Poke Cake” and “Moomaw’s Fluffernutter Squares,” but others look more personal, either hockey or school related. There is a video from Bittle’s frog year called “Samwell vs. Yale” and another from November 2014 titled “Women, Food and American Culture,” which is the class they took together.

Jack bookmarks a few of the videos to come back to later. If he doesn’t get a move on, he’ll be late to his meeting.

* * *

 **ButterVsLard**    3 weeks ago

Kirk: *shakes fist* puhKAAAAAAAAAHNNNN!!!

Reply ･ 24   [thumb up] [thumb down]

 

**Then**

**September 2015**

 

Bitty was curled in the cozy chair by his open window. He kept glancing up at the frat house across the street and thinking that he should replace his missing window blind. He had a direct view into someone else’s bedroom—which meant that they could see into his. Someday soon he hoped to be doing things in this room that shouldn’t be shared with random strangers. Especially not dickhead lacrosse players.

Jack sat on his bed with his laptop, shirtless. Ostensibly because of the late summer heatwave, but more likely for Bitty’s benefit. God bless Skype.

They were talking hockey. Specifically about the four new frogs on Samwell’s team.

“And the twin brothers?” Jack asked. “At the tour, they seemed like they had potential. Really focused on hockey.”

“Thing One and Thing Two?” Bitty said. Jack laughed, getting the reference. “I know, I’m being uncharitable. But seriously, these guys are _literally bros!_

“You know how Hardy complained about feeling superfluous on our line? ‘Cause we played so well together? Well, that’s how it is with Nicky and Nater. I may be on the ice, but they’re off in their own goal-making twin-world.”

“Your new guys all need to learn to work with the entire team.”

“Yes, captain. I’ll tell them you said so.”

Jack smiled at Bitty fondly and took a sip of the beer that had been sitting on his nightstand.

“It’s hardly noon!” Bitty said, caught by surprise. “You never drink this early.”

“What?! It’s thirty-five degrees,” Jack said, but he put it back down, out of sight.

“Oh, you and your made-up Canadian temperatures.” Then Bitty sighed. “We should be spending this entire weekend together. It’s a holiday!”

“You were here last weekend.”

“But it wasn’t as hot then. Now we could cool down in your massive shower.” He bit his lip and continued, his voice lower. “I could push you against the tile, kiss down your spine, spread your ass, run my tongue…”

Jack swallowed hard. “Unfair! It’s not like I want Aunt Eléonore to stay here on her drive down to Virginia Beach. I don’t know why she’s not flying.”

Bitty couldn’t let it go. “So tonight’s out, but if I came tomorrow afternoon, I could at least stay a night. And George said that you could bring anyone you wanted as your plus one to Monday’s barbeque.”

“Bittle, we talked about this already,” Jack said, somewhat impatiently. Bitty didn’t miss how he used his last name. “The season hasn’t even started. Let me get to know my team better before you start pressuring me to come out to them.”

Bitty sat back from the computer screen, looked to the side and blinked a couple of times. “No, you’re right, Jack. Sorry. I just miss you.”

“I miss you, too…Bitty, hey, look at me.” Bitty looked back at Jack on the monitor. “I love you. We’re not going to have to do this forever.”

“Promise?”

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 5 Sept 2015

I guess if I went to a bbq as someone’s +1, when ALL the other +1s were WAGs, it might imply that I was dating that someone. [frowny emoji]

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 5 Sept 2015

@candybakes Wives and girlfriends

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 5 Sept 2015

@luftballoon99 No, I am not dating anyone. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)

 

# Part 7

**Now**

**July 2016**

 

“Jack’s been asking about your YouTube channel,” Lardo says without preamble when Bitty answers his phone. “It probably won’t be long before he finds it. He’s not as social media inept as he likes to pretend.”

Bitty feels as if he’s received a hard check he hadn’t braced himself for. Shitty and Lardo are the only people who know the whole story of him and Jack—from both sides, he assumes. He drops to a wooden dining chair, thinking about all the feelings he’s overshared online in the past three years. _Reason number seventeen to hate Jack… Never fall for a straight boy… I don’t know what you bake for a broken heart…_

“Oh, god. Why?”

“He knows about Samwell and he’s probably just curious what’s going on with you. I thought you should know.” She hesitates. “He actually came and stayed with us for a week, just after you left. Total coincidence. And weird as fuck considering how long he’s been MIA.”

Lardo and Shitty have always been carefully neutral when it comes to their respective best friends. And able and willing to keep secrets. So Bitty understands why she hadn’t told him Jack had suddenly reappeared in their lives, even though they talk nearly every day.

“Is he…” Bitty doesn’t know how to end that question.

“He said he just needed a safe place to think through some things.”

“Lardo and Shitty’s Home for Boys with Issues.” They both laugh. It’s not far from the truth.

“So anyway, how’s the new roommate?” Lardo asks, conspicuously changing the subject.

“Oh, Devon’s great. And they loooove pie.”

“Sounds like a match.”

 

Bitty understands, at least conceptually, that everything online is permanent, but at the same time he’s clung to the idea that his videos are hidden from his real-life friends and family. He may share a Pinterest board with his mama, but he’s never given out his YouTube address.

He once promised himself that he’d be true to himself in his videos, that he would be completely authentic. He’s never cultivated a false persona, never overplayed his Southern drawl or pretended to be a better baker (or hockey player or student) than he really is.

But that afternoon Bitty goes through his vlog and changes the settings on some of the videos. He doesn’t know if he’s in time to keep Jack from seeing them, but it gives him palpitations to think about him watching Bitty bitch about him as a frog or moon over him as a softie. So, just maybe, he’s not as over Jack Zimmermann as he thought he was.

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 14 July 2016

Sorry, but I’ve had to make a few of my BvL videos private. @ me if you need access for some reason.

 

**Then**

**October 2015**

 

The crowd of excited Samwell students shouted _Jack, Jack, Jack_ as loud as possible every time he skated onto the ice. All that screaming landed them on the Jumbrotron more than once and when Jack noticed, he waved shyly in their direction.

The Falcs lost 3-1 to the Caps, and even with his first NHL goal neatly tucked away in the second period, Jack was dejected. Since they’d agreed to keep their relationship secret, there wasn’t anything Bitty could do or say to comfort him, not in front of Jack’s new teammates. He tried his hardest to act like nothing more than just another friend from college.

It was mid-week, so most of the Wellies headed back to campus after the game, but Bitty, Holster, Lardo, and Shitty all joined Jack and the team at a restaurant not far from the arena, where even the players younger than Bitty seemed to be exempt from having their IDs checked.

Bitty squished into the corner of a booth next to Jack, with Lardo on the outside and Finny and Petey across the table. Holster and Shitty played pool with Mize, the goalie, and one of the Falc’s D-men—Otter or something.

“They’re gonna call us the ZIP Line,” Finny said. “Zimmermann, Isomaki,” he indicated himself, “and Petersen. That’s pretty cool, right!”

Kaare Isomaki—Finny—was a year younger than Jack, and had been drafted in the third round by the Aces in 2010. He’d been traded to the Falconers this season in exchange for a future second round pick. Finny was a strong left winger, and he and Parson had played well together in Las Vegas. Bitty wondered what, if anything, he knew about Kent and Jack.

“Whoa, whoa. Hold up, little buddy,” Petey interjected. “Only legendary lines get a nickname. We’re not quite up to ‘Firing Line’ status yet. Give it time.”

“But it’s a great name,” Finny insisted. “Like that thing in Vegas where you fly down Fremont Street, with all the lights.” He zoomed his hand like an airplane and looked around the table for confirmation. Only Lardo nodded and Bitty wondered when she’d ever been to Las Vegas—and if there was a story there. There always seemed to be a story when Vegas was involved.

Jack, however, just shrugged and went back to his drink. It hadn’t escaped Bitty that Jack was drinking more than he usually did. Vegas was a sore subject and he worried about Jack’s game there at the end of the month. He skootched a little closer, pressing his leg to Jack’s under the table. “I’m really proud of you. Your first goal! I’m so glad I got to see it.”

“Thanks, Bitty.” Jack gave him a tired smile and squeezed his knee, but he didn’t look like he felt any better.

* * *

 **Wed, Oct 7, 2015** 11:18 PM

 **Finny:** If I didn’t know better I’d say Zimmerman has a boner for some guy from his college

 **Parse:** What do you mean?

 **Finny:** Dude came to the game and now their sitting almost on top of each other

 **Parse:** Short? Blond?

 **Finny:** Yeah that’s the one

 **Parse:** Well you don’t know anything. Forget it.

 **Parse:** Liney.

 **Finny:** So their just bros

 **Parse:** I said forget it.

 **Parse:** Also *they’re.

 

# Part 8

**Now**

**July 2016**

 

Another week passes before Jack gets back to Bittle’s YouTube. He thinks about making some popcorn as a snack, but doesn’t want it seem (even to himself) like he’s watching these videos as entertainment. It’s more like recon. He needs to know that Bittle is okay. Even though Shitty and Lardo hadn’t said much, Jack could tell that a lot of major things had happened to Bittle since Jack…(might as well call it what it really was) ran away from the best thing in his life.

He starts with the most recent video. It’s eight minutes of pain in his chest. Bittle seems so sad and lonely. Maybe it wouldn’t be obvious to the casual viewer, but Jack knows him. Knows how he puts on a brave face. He watches a few more in reverse order: long distance job hunting (Vietnamese sesame balls and Lardo’s grandmother), Spring C (sangria popsicles and a lot of blushing), Valentine’s Day (coconut cream cake and a lot of frustration), four flubbed passes in one game (chocolate fudge and “looking for someone who wasn’t there”). Then there’s a long gap with no videos at all.

Jack tries to watch a few from his own time at Samwell, the ones he bookmarked, but YouTube shows they’re now private. Which is probably a direct result of his asking Lardo if she knew Bittle’s channel name.

Jack wants to make good choices. He wants to respect Bittle’s boundaries. So he closes YouTube and opens Netflix instead.

He should have made popcorn.

 

Jack recognizes the den at Kent’s mom’s house. It’s now a shrine to Kent Parson’s hockey career, from mites to the Aces. Trophies, magazine spreads, jerseys, a life-size cardboard cutout of Kent holding the Stanley Cup.

“Really?” Jack asks. “Are you serious? You couldn’t have taken this in the kitchen? Your room?”

Kent stops walking his laptop around the den and smiles coyly at the screen. “I thought you’d sworn off being in my bedroom.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it. He breathes in, out, in, out. “I want to talk to you about addiction.”

“Is this an intervention? Aren’t those usually done in person?”

“Kenny, please.”

Kent’s grin falls away. “Sure, bro. Whatever you need.”

Part of Jack’s recovery is to make amends. It’s the ninth step. It’s more than an apology, so he doesn’t tell Kent he’s sorry. Instead he offers the truth that Kent had never heard directly. It’s a short story: his anxiety and the downward spiral of booze and meds, his overdose and his time in rehab. He mentions the people who have helped him cope over the past decade—his parents, his friends, his teams.

“And you, Kenny. I’ve only ever loved two people, you know.”

Kent hasn’t said a word this entire time. “I loved you, too,” he says finally, looking over the top of his computer, not at Jack. “I always tried to look out for you, do what I thought was best for you.”

* * *

 **mer. 3 août 2016** 13:24

 **Maman:** Plans for tonight?

 **Jack:** Just dinner at the Petersens’ with some of the guys.

 **Maman:** Nice! Do they know it’s your birthday?

 **Jack:** Yes, they definitely know. I’ve been promised cake.

 **Maman:** But pie is your favorite.

 **Jack:** Maman, don’t.

 **Maman:** You’re in a good place now. You should call him.

 

 **mer. 3 août 2016** 17:19

 **Maman:** Sorry for meddling.

 

**Then**

**October 2015**

 

On Halloween, the Falconers were beat into submission by the Aces, which was both disappointing and expected. But it was still cool for Jack to finally be on the ice again with Kent, even if they were on opposing teams. Once Jack had decided to sign with Providence, he and Kent had started talking more. Texts mostly, a phone call after the Falcs’ first win. Jack followed Kent’s cat on Instagram.

Jack’s team wasn’t scheduled to fly home until the next morning, and he’d been given permission to flex the curfew, so they went out for tacos after the game. Kent’s choice of restaurants was perfect: small and quiet, and a long way from the Strip. They weren’t recognized.

When Kent left the table to piss, Jack pulled his phone from his pocket. Someone had posted a few pictures from the Haus Halloween party on the group chat. “Haha. Nice,” he commented on a picture of Bitty, Holster, and Ransom. He’d chirp Bitty for that bunny costume later. Maybe ask him to wear it again.

“Your thing with that twink is going to get you outed.” Jack startled; he hadn’t heard Kent come up behind him. “It’s all over his Twitter, if you know to look for it. Finny even said something to me after your opener—and he’s not the sharpest crayon. Do you want the media to find out? Are you ready for that to be all you’re known for?”

Jack tried to keep his face expressionless, even while his chest tightened uncomfortably. He definitely was not ready. His hand shook slightly as he picked up his beer, accidently clinking it against one of his other empty bottles.

Kent slid back into his seat, furrowed his brow, considered Jack for a moment. “At least keep it in the family.”

“Family?”

“Yeah, you know, another pro. Someone who no one suspects. Easier to keep it on the down low.”

“That’s what you’re doing?” Jack asked.

Kent looked at Jack seriously and took another pull from his own beer. “I don’t know. Am I?”

 

It was still very dark when Jack woke with a huge headache. 3 a.m.—6 on the east coast, his usual wake up time. He helped himself to a bottle of water from Kent’s fridge and shook a couple of Advil into his palm from a bottle sitting next to some supplements on the counter.

Back in the bedroom, he sorted his clothes from Kent’s and quietly dressed. “Kenny, I’m headed out.”

“Okay, man, that’s cool,” Kent responded, sitting up to squint at Jack. “Think about what I said though. We’re not the only guys in the league who like dick. Or find yourself a girlfriend. Don’t put your career at risk.”

* * *

 **Sun, Nov 1, 2015** 9:36 AM

 **Jack:** We need to talk.

 

# Part 9

**Now**

**October 2016**

 

Bitty wasn’t expecting to see both his parents when he made plans with his mama to meet in Savannah’s historic district, but he has to admit that he’s still a bit let down when she walks into the restaurant alone. Coach has refused to talk to him since Bitty came out last Christmas.

“I think I could have persuaded him,” she says, correctly interpreting Bitty’s disappointment. “But then I said _brunch_.”

“And that’s just too _queer_ for Coach?”

Bitty isn’t sure why he’s trying to provoke her. He rarely even uses the word, preferring _gay_ , at least when referring to himself. And really, his mama has been great. They talk as much as they ever did. The only difference is that she never passes the phone to Bitty’s dad.

“Your father’s hurt.”

“ _He’s_ hurt? This is _my life!_ What does he have to be hurt about?”

“You’re his only child. How was he supposed to react when you just sprung it on him like that?”

“So he’d rather pretend that he doesn’t even _have_ a child?” Bitty asked, his voice breaking. “Besides, you knew without my saying anything. You even knew about Jack.”

She looks close to tears, and he doesn’t ever want to make his mama cry. “Mimosa?” he suggests with a sigh, silently agreeing not to talk about it anymore.

“Oh, yes!” she says, too brightly. “That sounds divine.”

They get through most of the meal before Suzanne mentions the upcoming holidays.

“I have to work on Thanksgiving, until three,” Bitty tells her. “And Devon’s dad invited me for Christmas.”

“You’d rather spend Christmas with a stranger than your own family?!”

“Well, I’m not going back to Madison until Coach talks to me directly, so this seems like the best option.”

“It’s just that…I’m sure her father is lovely, but…” She pauses, blinks. “His father…”

Bitty lets her flounder awhile. Apparently, he’s still being a jerk.

“Their dad actually seems pretty nice,” he finally says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

They talk about Devon and some of the people he’s met in Savannah, but it’s only when she wants news about his Samwell friends that Bitty realizes that his mama has never once asked if he was seeing someone. Not since he came out, but also not before. That was always Coach or the extended family.

“I watched some of Jack’s recent interviews,” she says, suddenly. Again seeming to read his expression. “He looks better than he did in the spring, but I could hardly believe that this was the same young man who visited us. He’d been so cheerful then. And now…so serious. Is he doin’ okay, Dicky?”

In three days, it will be a year since Bitty last saw Jack in person. And it’s a little pathetic that he knows—is marking—the anniversary of their breakup. “I don’t know, mama. We’re not friends anymore.”

“Oh.” She looks sad again—as if she was the one who was dumped when things got a little complicated.

“Larissa says he’s doing better.”

“That’s good then. I liked him.”

Me, too, Bitty thinks.

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 29 Oct 2016

Halloween party tonight is called Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. What could possibly go wrong? [scared emoji]

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 29 Oct 2016

FYI the book is source of @SeeDevonSew’s all-time favorite quote: "Two tears in a bucket, motherfuck it."

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 29 Oct 2016

And is also required reading for gay boys from Georgia. Which may be why we’re so messed up. We need better role models.

 

**Then**

**November 2015**

 

Every Friday Bitty sent Jack a Priority Mail box filled with treats. Usually he got cookies, like snickerdoodles or oatmeal walnut cranberry. But he’d also received mini pies and once got something called “flourless cake” that tasted like a chocolate-flavored orgasm.

Six days after the Aces game, though, no box of baked goods waited in the lobby of his building. And Jack was not surprised. While treats were not just for boyfriends—Bitty had, at one time or another, sent cookies to all the guys—they were for _friends_. And after the way Jack had treated Bittle that week, he justly figured he was no longer in that category.

Jack wandered aimlessly around his apartment. It was still strange to live all alone after the chaos of the Haus. He missed it. He considered calling Shitty, but he’d no doubt heard the story—either directly from Bittle or through Lardo—and he couldn’t deal with Shitty confirming that Jack had been the worst boyfriend possible, unworthy of the sweetness and light that was Eric Richard Bittle.

The apartment was clean, nothing to do there. But the fridge was mostly empty. He scribbled a short shopping list: _chicken, carrots, Gatorade, beer, coffee, apples, soap_ , and headed for the store. But although he parked in front of the Price Rite, he didn’t go inside. Instead he slipped into the bar next door.

 

“You look like you need another drink,” the woman said. “Next round is on me.”

Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to anyone, but she was persistent without being pushy. One whiskey sour became two, then three. She introduced him to her friends from work, all of them high school teachers.

“What do you teach?”

“U.S. History. Don’t laugh,” she said at his expression of surprise. “It’s sort of my passion.”

Jack took a better look at her. Meagan, she had said. She wore tight dark jeans and a sweater that was Samwell red. Even in heels, she only came up to his chin and when she moved closer to him to talk, he thought her short, blonde hair smelled faintly like fruit.

“Where are you from?” she asked, looking up at him from beneath long eyelashes.

“Montreal, originally. You?” She didn’t sound like a native New Englander either. In fact, her accent reminded him a little of…well, it sounded like she came from farther south.

“The great state of Texas!” she announced with pride. She smiled; her lips matched her sweater. They looked soft. Jack tentatively smiled back.

 _Find yourself a girlfriend_ , Kent had said. Maybe that could work.

* * *

 **Meagan Reynolds** @itsmeeeeegan ･ 6 Nov 2015

Quick, tweeps! Teach me everything you know about hockey!

 

# Part 10

**Now**

**November 2016**

 

“I met someone dateable,” Bitty’s roommate sing-songs one morning. “Last night at the shop.” Devon manages the closing shift at Starbucks three nights per week.

Bitty is in the middle of mixing up pumpkin spice scones as a trial before he demonstrates them on his vlog. It’s that time of year, when he craves all things pumpkin spice latte, as if the flavor will make up for Georgia’s lack of frosty weather. Mutual love of PSL is one of many ways in which he and Devon are compatible roomies.

“That’s great! Are you going to go out with them?”

“Not for me, Eric. For you.” Bitty looks up sharply. He’s gone on a few—well, exactly three—dates since moving to Savannah, but so far none of them has seemed worth a follow up. Devon knows his (short and tragic) romantic history, but Bitty didn’t realize they were wheeling on his behalf.

“They ordered an extra-hot triple grande mocha, with whip.”

“Um, that’s not even similar to my usual order,” Bitty says, confused. “I don’t think I’m following your logic.”

“Oh, also, they were wearing a short-sleeved chef shirt and those cute houndstooth pants. So they totes know their way around a kitchen. Annnnd they were tall, dark haired, and athletic looking. Your type.”

“And single? And gay?” Bitty asks. Then remembers he should confirm another detail. “And male?”

Bitty doesn’t have any issue with Devon’s use of gender-neutral pronouns for themself, but sometimes it’s confusing when applied to other people. For example, if he doesn’t ask, he doesn’t know if Devon has invited over a group of people or just one when he hears, “they’re coming over to work on our costume draping project.” It makes it hard to know how much pie to bake.

Likewise, it makes it more challenging to identify people who actually do express a specific gender. And since Bitty’s preference when it comes to sex and dating is non-negotiable, he finds it best to request clarification.

“Yes. Their name is Stephen and they are very interested in meeting my ‘fabulous roommate who has a popular baking channel on YouTube and is both cute as a cupcake and totally bangable.’”

Bitty has turned his back to Devon in order to shape his scones, but he hears the finger quotes. “Please, you did NOT say that to a total stranger.”

Devon just hums. “Do you want their number or not?”

Bitty takes the number.

* * *

Originally posted November 22, 2016:

 

**Then**

**November 2015**

 

Bittle was supposed to come to Providence for Thanksgiving. No doubt he would have spent the day cooking a feast for two, but afterward they’d have had most of the long weekend to just chill together. Eat some leftovers, get naked. Play/watch hockey.

But that was before Kent Parson convinced him to throw it all away. No, that wasn’t fair. _Jack_ had made the choice for himself. He’d allowed his fear to derail his happiness—and Bittle’s.

On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Jack woke before his alarm, head fuzzy, and checked his phone out of habit. Bittle used to send him messages when he stayed up late studying and Jack would read them early the next morning.

 _Câlisse_ _._ There was a short text exchange with Bittle that he didn’t remember initiating. He spent five minutes staring at his phone before tapping out a final message to end the conversation.

He sat for a while with his head in his hands before his alarm finally rang. He took a deep breath. He could do this. He’d made his decision.

He ran, showered, ate, practiced, showered, ate. When he knew the high school had let out for the day, he called Meagan.

“So this is a little last minute, but I’m going to Thanksgiving at one of my teammate’s—Petey and his wife, Samantha—and wondered if you’d like to go?”

“I’ve been invited to have dinner with another teacher and her family.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Jack cut in. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you later then?”

Meagan used her patient teacher’s voice, “I was just going to say, Jack, that it was going to be soooo awkward—and I’d rather spend time with you.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Maybe.

He didn’t really think Thanksgiving with him could be any less awkward than dinner with a co-worker, but whatever. They’d been out multiple times in the past few weeks and he figured if he was going to really do this—have a girlfriend—then the next step was to have her meet his friends.

 

“My dad’s stoked that I’m dating an NHL star, even though we’re a college football family.” Meagan poked Jack playfully and he hoped his smile didn’t look too forced. “What about you, Samantha? Did you follow hockey before you met Petey?”

“I grew up with hockey; my brothers both played in the USHL.” She gave Petey a wink. “And I guess our kids, when we finally have them, won’t have much of a choice. It’ll be in their blood.”

Jack knew Sam only meant to stress her connection to the sport, but it reminded him too much of the assumptions people had made about him, Bad Bob’s progeny. The pressure that he hadn’t been able to handle. He hoped the Petersens’ kids fared better.

“I want kids, too. I’m almost 30, so it’s sort of on my mind,” Meagan said. She glanced at Jack and then quickly away. _Jesus._ He caught Petey’s smirk.

Jack needed to escape. “So, can I get anyone another beer?”

* * *

 **lun. 23 nov. 2015** 22:44

 **Jack:** Sory I fucked up

 **Jack:** I didnt mean for it to hap

 **Jack:** happen

 **Jack:** I wanted to tel him no

 **Bittle:** what? who?

 **Jack:** Kent pasron

 **Bittle:** no. Please tell me you don’t mean what I think you mean.

 **Jack:** He said it was on the downlo w

 **Bittle:** Why are you telling me this? You haven’t hurt me enough?

 **Bittle:** Please just. Don’t talk to me.

 **Jack:** Biity I

 

 **mar. 24 nov. 2015** 05:39

 **Jack:** I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again.

 

# Part 11

**Now**

**November 2016**

 

Jack has a routine that keeps him physically fit and mentally stable. He alternates swimming and running in the mornings, and sometimes joins a class at the hipster yoga studio down the street from his building. His game schedule makes it difficult to consistently attend the NA meeting he likes best, but catching it every once in a while seems to be enough.

Admittedly, he’s a little lonely. His two-bedroom condo is still too empty, and for a short time he even considers going the Kent Parson route and getting a cat. Instead, he starts inviting Finny over to watch movies. It turns out Finny really likes romantic comedies, so they’re working their way through some list they found online.

Jack is feeling comfortable and relaxed in his own living room and _Chasing Amy_ is a funny movie. When a character complains about southern drawls, saying, “You know how hard it is not to laugh when someone moans, _Fuhhk me_?" Finny totally loses it.

“Hey, I thought that was sexy,” Jack says, smiling. He takes a sip of his Coke.

“Oh, yeah, Meagan sounded like that.”

“Her, too,” he says without thinking.

“Oh.” Jack looks over and watches as all the pins in Finny’s mind finally tumble into place and the memory unlocks. “The kid from your school.”

“Bittle.” He pauses, inhales, exhales, holds Finny’s gaze. “He’s from Georgia.”

“Bitty, not Betty.”

Jack has imagined this moment. Has literally worried himself sick over the idea of coming out to his teammates. Had misled Meagan—for months—in an attempt to appear straight. And maybe his pulse is a little loud in his ears, but he’s not panicking. He nods. “Is that a problem?”

Finny looks taken aback. “No, man. No, of course not.” The movie is still playing, but neither of them is paying attention. “So…you’re…bi?”

Jack shakes his head negative. He is no longer willing to pretend.

Finny looks relieved. “Coool. No more competition then.”

Jack laughs so hard he has to set down his Coke before he spills it. “Finny, I could wear a ‘tough luck, girls, I’m gay’ sign and you _still_ couldn’t pick up. You have even less game than I do!” 

 

Jack takes a present for the Petersens’ baby girl and sits in a rocking chair holding her while she sleeps. She’s tiny and pink. Her name is Beatrix.

“You look good with a baby, Zimm,” Petey says. “Want one of your own some day?”

“Maybe?” And Petey couldn’t have given him an easier opening. “Though I’m actually gay, so it’ll take more effort than just insert tab A into slot B, eh?”

Petey doesn’t miss a beat, and Jack wonders if he already had guessed, or if Finny had mentioned it. “Bro, let me tell you. This baby was a _lot_ of fucking work. Nothing easy about it.”

He knocks his shoe against Jack’s and Jack knows they’re just fine.

* * *

From **Butter vs Lard** , Eric Bittle’s video blog, Nov. 29, 2016:

[Bitty] _Devon, you know what to do…_

[Devon, with no trace of a southern accent] _Hey, y’all._

[Bitty] _Devon’s here to help me decorate some holiday cookies as only a costume design major can. Sugar cookies can be decorated and frozen ahead of time—so long as you don’t use colored sprinkles, which will bleed as they thaw—that way you can pull them out of the freezer with a flourish next month when you need them and everyone will be simply amazed!_ [Devon gives an overly dramatic gasp of amazement and Bitty rolls his eyes]

[Bitty, as they decorate cookies] _Devon is from Chicago, but their dad lives just up the road in Raleigh, North Carolina._

[Devon] _It’s like five hours._

[Bitty] _(Honey, I’ve made the drive between Georgia and Massachusetts multiple times now. Five hours is nothin’.) Anyway, y’all can probably guess that I really miss hockey. And the closest pro hockey team is the Hurricanes in….Raleigh! So Devon and I are driving up next month. I’m gonna get a little hockey fix, and then we’ll spend Christmas at their dad’s._

[Devon, with mock innocence] _And who are the Hurricanes playing on December 22nd, Eric?_

[Bitty] _Um, they just happen to be playing the Falconers._

[Devon looks directly at the camera and gives another overly dramatic gasp]

 

**Then**

**December 2015**

 

If he was being completely honest with himself, Bitty had fantasized about having sex in this bed quite a lot. So he shouldn’t be surprised to find himself ass in the air while someone ran a thumb down his lube-slick crack. Especially since he had initiated it.

Garrett was a sure thing. It had started spring their freshman year, when Garrett lived in the suite upstairs from Bitty’s. He was tall and golden-skinned, with the impressive shoulders that came from constantly chucking a rubber ball down a field with a long stick. “That’s some Romeo and Juliet shit, right there,” Shitty said when he learned Bitty was hooking up with one of the dreaded _lax bros._ So Bitty had kept it from the rest of his team. It wasn’t like they were boyfriends, after all. It was just…exploration.

Bitty sighed and wriggled. “Impatient much?” Garrett asked.

“I have a paper for Intro to Economics due Monday afternoon.”

“Hmmm, if you can still think about homework that’s not due for a day and a half, I’m obviously not doing my job here,” Garrett murmured and pushed his thumb inside. Bitty stopped giving any thought to the federal budget deficit.

 

 _Look up._ Bitty glanced up from his phone to the lacrosse frat where he could see Garrett’s bedroom, directly across from his own. His phone chimed again: _Turn off your lamp._ With his light off, Bitty could see Garrett clearly framed in the window. He gave a little wave, curious. It was close to midnight on the Tuesday before finals and Bitty had no clue what was going on—with Garrett, or with his exams. Next came the instructions _[Bey 7/11](https://youtu.be/k4YRWT_Aldo) let me know when it starts._ Bitty shrugged, clicked through to his iTunes and started the track.

At Bitty’s thumbs up, Garrett tossed his phone to his bed and began to strip. He started with his shirt, flicking open the buttons slowly from top to bottom and shimmying as he dropped the shirt from his shoulders to the floor. He danced shirtless, arms in the air, and then turned and started on his pants. Bitty was hard by the time Garrett had eased both his jeans and his boxer briefs over his glorious ass and out of view. Halfway through the song he faced the Haus again, his erection jutting from his body, and as Beyoncé came back to “smack it, smack it in the air” he started jacking off. Bitty bit his lip and slipped his hand into his own sweats.

Garrett came over his hand just before the song ended and smiled wickedly through the windows at Bitty before flipping off his light, like it was a twenty-five cent peep show.

“Oh my god!” Bitty groaned. At the same time he heard Chowder from his own room, “Sorry, Bits, I don’t think I was supposed to watch that!”

* * *

 **mer, 16 d** **é** **c. 2015** 07:49

 **Meagan:** Good morning, handsome! [kiss emoji]

 **Jack:** Hello.

 **Meagan:** You’re such a dork.

 **Meagan:** But I love you. [heart emoji] [heart emoji] [heart emoji]

 **Jack:** It’s true. I am a dork.

 

# Part 12

**Now**

**November 2016**

 

When Devon gets home from class, Bitty is prone on the couch, staring at his phone. Every forty seconds, when it goes dark, he hits the screen with his thumb to wake it up. Devon watches this for several cycles as they hang up their coat and slip off their shoes.

“What gives?”

“Jack Zimmermann will be the death of me.”

Devon gets a fork and the half-eaten blackberry pie from the kitchen and sits cross-legged on the carpet facing the couch. “So, what have they done?”

Bitty shows Devon the text he’d received that afternoon.

“Pretty smooth.”

“Yeah. So I figured he had found my videos—I even went back and made a few of them private, for my own sanity—but apparently he’s keeping up with the new ones. There’s no other way he’d know I’m going to the ‘Canes game.”

“What are you going to do?”

Bitty shrugs. He honestly doesn’t know. It’s been more than a year since Jack came to the Haus for the last time. “I can’t do this,” he’d said, which Bitty took to mean Jack was ashamed and afraid to be outed. So it was over, just as abruptly as it had begun. In a moment. Without warning. It was only later that Bitty had learned that Jack had cheated on him.

“What does it mean?” Bitty whines, turning over on the couch and staring at the ceiling.

It’s Devon’s turn to shrug. “I can’t even begin to imagine what goes on inside the mind of a closeted professional athlete. I mean, even Johnny Weir was basically retired when they came out. And that was figure skating.”

“Hey,” Bitty protests half-heartedly, “figure skating is not very gay. At all. I might have stuck with it if it had been.” He sighs. “I want to see him. And I don’t want to see him.”

“Are you ready to forgive him?”

“I already have—I couldn’t get a grudge to stick if it was covered in jam. I just don’t know why he’s texting me now.”

“Maybe it’s a booty call. _Let’s meet in North Carolina for a no-strings fuck.”_

“He does have a habit of sleeping with his exes.” That makes Bitty giggle a little. “Actually, I can’t imagine Jack being into casual sex. He has, like, two settings—zero or eleven.”

“Sounds intense.”

“It is…It was.”

 

Bitty can’t seem to settle that night. He tries watching some music videos and then works on a script. Eventually he wanders into the kitchen and allows himself to bake on autopilot. He ends up making maple-glazed butter cookies. _Well, shit._

It’s long past when he should have been asleep when he finally sends Jack a response.

* * *

 **Thur, Dec 1, 2016** 3:29 PM

 **Jack:** I’d like to take you to dinner when you’re in Raleigh.

 

 **Fri, Dec 2, 2016** 1:06 AM

 **Bitty:** Ok. Where/when?

 

 **Fri, Dec 2, 2016** 5:45 AM

 **Jack:** I’ll text you.

 

**Then**

**December 2015**

 

Bob and Alicia came to Providence for Christmas. Before Jack left for the airport to pick them up, he put brand new towels in the guest bathroom, cracked open the balcony door for fresh air, and Swiffered the hardwood floors. He felt a little jittery.

Bringing up Meagan was particularly nerve-racking. His mom and dad had known about Kent, had both adored Bittle. He wasn’t sure he’d ever mentioned Camilla to them—that hadn’t been much more than a few clumsy attempts at sex and a lot of sports talk. And other than a few rare one-night-stands with guys, that was it. It shouldn’t be a big deal to tell your parents about your socially-sanctioned, heterosexual relationship, but it was.

“Um, so she teaches high school history,” he said, after his mom had stopped looking like she’d swallowed a spider and asked to know more. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Will we get to meet her?” Bob asked.

“Since she’s obviously stolen your heart,” Alicia added dryly.

“ _Maman_.”

“Okay, okay. I’m just a bit surprised that you’ve been seeing someone for six weeks and hadn’t thought to tell us. And even more surprised at the timing.”

“Is no one going to mention the elephant in the room?” Alicia and Jack turned to look at Bob. “ _Girl-_ friend?!”

Jack sighed and tried to explain. “It’s nice to have someone to take to parties. Good to have a picture or two show up on Twitter. It gets the guys and the press—even the fans—off my case.” Dating Bittle couldn’t ever be like that.

Alicia put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “So she knows?” Jack didn’t say anything. “Baby, that’s not fair—to either of you.”

“Really, I like her,” Jack said, because Meagan was nice enough. “If it’s okay, she’d like to come with us to dinner tonight.”

 

Jack was in his bedroom trying to get his heart rate under control when he heard the doorbell. He wanted just a few more minutes before he had to witness his parents meeting Meagan, but she was early. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair and hurried out to the foyer in time to see Meagan shaking hands with his father. Jack’s mom stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

Alicia turned to Jack and widened her eyes, trying to convey…something. _What?_ he mouthed. He looked at the scene in front of him. His dad, still imposing at 59, had his big hand wrapped around Meagan’s small one. She was thin and blonde, like his mom, but shorter, and with dark brown eyes and a dusting of freckles across her up-turned nose. Her dress wasn’t one he’d seen before, but it was pretty. Sort of like wallpaper. But in a good way.

“It is sooo nice to meet y’all!” Meagan gushed.

Jack thought his mother’s eyebrows were going to fly off her face. “Oh baby,” she said just loud enough for only Jack to hear, “do you even see what you’re doing?!”

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  23 Dec 2015

Failed econ. Say what you will about my last captain, but he’d never have let me fail an intro class in his major. #FisforFuckMyLife

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  23 Dec 2015

Didn’t do much better in French. I sorta lost my enthusiasm halfway through the semester.

 

# Part 13

**Now**

**December 2016**

 

For only the second time, Bitty wears his blue and white Falconers jersey. Zimmermann. Number 15. And there’s no good reason for his heart to beat extra fast, for his stomach to feel quivery, so he blames it on the exciting game.

Jack is beautiful on the ice. Not like last year. Then, when Bitty would watch highlights on his laptop alone in his room, Jack had played without joy, like each game was a duty. Now he’s confidant and fluid and obviously having fun. This is the hockey player Bitty remembers from two years ago.

The game is close, but the Falconers take the win from the Hurricanes, 4-3. Jack’s been playing well all season and tonight’s hat trick has the media speculating about a league points race between him and the Caps’ center, Kuznetsov.

 

Back in Savannah, Bitty had agonized over what to wear to dinner, and finally choose a pair of skinny jeans and a white button-down, with a soft pink sweater and a plaid bow tie. He knows the jeans make his ass look great and the sweater is cozy and huggable. He doesn’t mind if it gives off a look-what-you’re-missing vibe. He doesn’t mind if it looks a little gay. Serves Jack right.

Kaare Isomaki is one of the first guys out of the visitors’ locker room. He sees Bitty and changes course, curious. He jerks his chin in greeting.

“Hey, bro, long time, no see. You coming out with us again?”

“No,” Bitty says. “Jack made reservations somewhere.”

Finny turns as Jack comes around the corner. “So dinner with Betty, huh?”

“It’s Bittle,” Jack corrects and Bitty isn’t sure why he’s blushing, but it’s cute.

 _Dammit._ Bitty doesn’t want cute Jack. He doesn’t want awkwardly funny Jack. Or sincerely Canadian Jack. This man broke his heart. He’s just here to be polite, because Jack had invited him. And because a boy has to eat after hockey, whether he played in the game (and got a hatty, like he was inspired or something), or just sat on the edge of his seat all night holding his breath.

But Bitty is drawn to Jack Zimmermann like an ant to sugar. And here Jack is, in the flesh, freshly showered and smelling like Old Spice Denali, Bitty’s favorite. He’s wearing a sharp navy suit and the tie Bitty helped him pick for his graduation ceremony. Of course.

“Nice tie.”

Jack catches his lower lip in his teeth. “You look good, too.”

Finny doesn’t try to hide his smile as he leaves, “You kids have fun tonight.”

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 22 Dec 2016

Nothing smells as good as ice. #goFalcs

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 22 Dec 2016

Amazing how much scent is connected to memory. And, in other news, I am sooo screwed.

 

**Then**

**December 2015**

 

The Bittles spent Christmas Eve in Monroe with Moomaw and all of Suzanne’s family. And Bitty answered the same questions over and over and over: still playing hockey; American Studies; nope, no girlfriend.

Brenna was Bitty’s favorite cousin. She was a year older than him, a senior at Emory majoring in environmental science. After dessert, Brenna pulled Bitty out to her car. “We’re going to look at lights,” she shouted.

“Take your sisters,” her mother called after them.

They pretended not to hear.

“Boyfriend?” Brenna asked once they were in a neighborhood Bitty didn’t recognize, where the holiday lights were synchronized to flash with the music on the radio.

“Pardon me?”

“You said no girlfriend, so I’m asking if there’s a boyfriend—which is totally cool by me.”

Bitty looked at her a moment, then sighed. “Not anymore. I’d been thinking about coming out to my parents, but maybe it doesn’t matter now.”

“Well, what is it hockey players say? ‘I got your back.’”

 

Bitty and his mama spent December 26th at the animal shelter playing with puppies, their after-Christmas tradition. Coach was allergic, so Bitty had never had a dog of his own. By the time they got home, he was exhausted. Later he would blame that (and maybe his talk with Brenna) for his lapse in judgment.

“You should have seen those pups climb all over Dicky!” Suzanne told Coach at dinner. “Too bad he never got to have a puppy.”

“Well, Junior, better make sure your girl isn’t allergic before you propose.”

Bitty barely registered his mama stiffening slightly before the words were out of his mouth. “I’ll be sure and ask him, I promise.”

“Sorry?” Coach looked a little puzzled, but not angry. Maybe this was fine.

A deep breath and, “I’m never going to have a wife, but I’d like to someday have a husband.”

“Oh, Dicky, this is not the time for this conversation.”

Bitty stared at her, eyes wide. “You know?”

“Well, with the way you and Jack were this summer, it seemed pretty obvious…”

“Is this common knowledge then? Is everyone but me aware that my only son is a…” Coach started, face pale, but then Suzanne’s words caught up with him. “You…and him? Jesus Christ, Jack Zimmermann is a cocksucker, too?”

“Richard!” Suzanne interrupted, shocked. “Not at the dinner table!”

And Bitty wasn’t sure what had upset Coach more. Was it that his only son-- baker, former figure skater, member of the Beyhive—liked men? Or was it that he couldn’t believe that a professional athlete like Jack could possibly be the same?

Coach pushed back from the table, grabbed his keys and left the house without another word. He didn’t come back that night, or the next.

Bitty returned to Massachusetts without seeing his father again.

“He’s just worried for your safety. And your happiness,” Suzanne tried to tell Bitty before he left. “Being…like you are…is not the easy road.”

“The word you’re looking for is _gay_ ,” Bitty said clearly. “I’m gay.”

* * *

From **Butter vs Lard** , Eric Bittle’s video blog, January 5, 2016:

_Thanks, y’all, for your concern over the past—well, I guess it’s been nearly three months. I saw there was actually a rumor online that I had died, or worse, had given up baking!_

_The truth is, I fell in love with my closest friend. And when it didn’t work out, I lost both the love and the friendship. And then, to make it even sadder, I’ve been completely shut out by someone who should love me unconditionally. I…I’m not sure how to get over this._

_I don’t know what you bake for a broken heart. But I did film myself making chocolate rugelach when I was at my mother’s house last month, so that’s what you’re getting…_

 

# Part 14

**Now**

**December 2016**

 

Jack takes them to Second Empire. Mick Mizner, the Falcs’ goalie, had suggested it, when Jack asked around for a recommendation. But Mize hadn’t mentioned it was so…romantic. White linen tablecloths, fresh flowers, candles. Jack worries that it will look like he’s got ulterior motives.

“Why Mr. Zimmermann, are you trying to wine me and dine me?”

“Well, at least you’re finally old enough to legally drink,” Jack chirps, then pauses awkwardly. “Which…a bit ironic…because I’ve stopped drinking all together…Sober for nearly seven months.”

“That’s great, Jack,” Bittle says, and it sounds truly genuine.

They both drink Coke and chat about hockey over salads, but by the time their entrées arrive, Jack has had enough small talk and wants to ask how Bittle’s really doing. _Is he happy in Savannah? Is he still planning to return to Samwell next fall?_ But what falls out of his mouth is this: “So, are you seeing anyone?”

At least Bittle doesn’t seem to think it’s none of Jack’s business. Even though it really, really isn’t.

“I’ve done a little dating. Nothing serious. Savannah’s an okay city to meet guys, but it’s still the South, so many of them aren’t out at work or school, or maybe to their families. And I’m sympathetic, sure, but I’ve been there, done that. And I just can’t do it again.

“You?”

Jack grimaces. “Well, you’d probably have heard about it if I’d come out.”

“You think it might make the news, do you?”

Jack stares, realizes it’s a chirp, and then breaks into a grin. “I am going to,” he says with conviction, after a moment where they just gaze across the table at each other. “Someday. When there’s a reason to.”

“But it’s not an issue as long as you continue to date women, you mean.” Jack doesn’t miss how bitter he sounds.

“That was a mistake.” Jack wants to reach out for Bittle, take the hand that’s fidgeting with his fork, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have the right. And can’t in public anyway. “I mean, _I_ made a mistake. I thought that I should just stay in the closet, at least for a few years. That’s what we had talked about.” Bittle nods in acknowledgment. “But we weren’t going to be able to keep people from finding out. You’re too transparent…” Bittle flinches and Jack rushes on, “And there was no way they wouldn’t read it all over my face, too. How much I love you. Loved you.

“I haven’t so much as been on a date since Meagan broke up with me.”

“Until tonight, you mean,” Bittle says with a smirk. “’Cause this place is hella expensive and you better be paying, mister.”

* * *

Originally posted December 22, 2016:

 

**Then**

**February 2016**

 

It was all couples, Jack saw when they walked into Petey and Samantha’s kitchen, having dropped their coats on the guest bed. Otter was there with Tia, and Mize had brought his latest girlfriend, the one Jack hadn’t yet met. Finny, perpetually single, wasn’t in evidence.

They’d brought an apple pie, which Meagan had baked at Jack’s the night before. He’d tried to suggest they take cheese and crackers—nice cheese from the _fromagerie_ on Westminster—but she wouldn’t hear of it. “Jack, sweetie, I don’t know why you’d spend this much money on a kitchen you seem determined not to use. Besides, people appreciate homemade.” Her pie looked…okay, he thought. The crust was golden and she’d made a lattice top, which he knew could be challenging. For some people. But it smelled like she’d added twice the cinnamon it needed. He didn’t really want to think about why he was such a judgmental prick about pie. After all, he hadn’t eaten any pie in months; it wasn’t on his diet plan.

Meagan gave Samantha a big hug. “How are you feeling, darlin’?” When Sam launched into a whole laundry list of unpleasant pregnancy symptoms, Jack moved away to grab a Sam Adams. He was glad that Meagan had made a friend--it made it easy to bring her to things like this, but he really wasn’t interested in those kinds of details.

Jack had lost track of how many beers he’d had when he next thought to see where Meagan was. Most of the party had squeezed into the television room to catch the end of the Predators/Kings game, which went into overtime before LA pulled out the win.

He found Meagan still with Samantha, sitting on the loveseat in the formal living room, heads tipped together. “It’s not _bad_ ,” Meagan was telling Sam, and the way she emphasized _bad_ made it obvious that whatever it was, it wasn’t good. “The few times it’s actually happened.” It sounded like a private conversation, so Jack turned to go, not wanting to interrupt. “Maybe it’s stress? Or inexperience? Maybe it’s his drinking…” Oh. He paused to listen.

“He’s what? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? Getting it up shouldn’t be a problem!” Jack felt himself flush.

“That’s not it. He’s just kinda...missing. Doesn’t make a peep. I can’t tell if he’s even into it,” Meagan said. ”So maybe it’s me.”

Jack ignored the sudden pounding of his heart and made his way back to the rest of the party.

* * *

 **Sat, Feb 20, 2016** 11:06 PM

 **Bitty:** Busy? Want to come over?

 **Garrett:** To the hockey house? That’s always a bit dangerous… ; )

 **Bitty:** I’ll make it worth the risk.

 **Garrett:** Are we going to watch a billion Taylor Swift videos?

 **Bitty:** Ha fucking ha.

 **Bitty:** That was a phase, btw.

 **Bitty:** Actually I was thinking about sucking your dick.

 **Garrett:** 15 min

 

# Part 15

**Now**

**January 2017**

 

Alicia Zimmermann throws a huge party for Bob’s sixtieth birthday and Jack comes to Montreal for a few days to join the celebration. The hotel ballroom is decked with sparkling lights and glittery snowflakes, boughs of evergreen and white velvet ribbon. To be honest, it looks more like a winter wedding reception than a birthday party for a hockey legend.

Jack says as much and Alicia shrugs. “Who knows when I’ll get to plan a wedding at the rate things are going,” she says, patting his cheek. At his slight blush, she adds, “You could have brought a date. We’d like that.”

Jack knows she doesn’t mean just any random date. “We had dinner last month. That’s all.”

“I have faith,” his mother says. “And patience. I believe in love.”

 

The next day Bob catches Jack in the den, replaying footage from the Bruins/Blackhawks game. The Falcs are at Chicago in two days.

“Thanks for coming up. It means a lot to your mother.” This is the way of some fathers and sons, easing into a conversation and deflecting the emotional part onto someone else. But Jack and his parents spent a lot of time in family therapy. His dad can talk about his feelings, and expects the same in return. “It means a lot to me, too.”

He sits on the other sofa. “How’s Eric?”

Jack snorts. “You, too?”

“I just want you to be happy. And you were as happy those last two years at Samwell as I’ve ever seen you. I think a lot of that was Eric.”

“We weren’t together when I was at school. You know that.”

Bob just shrugs, unconcerned about Jack’s definition of _together_. “What’s stopping you now, son?”

Jack squeezes the back of his neck, thinks. “One, I should stay focused on my game and not get distracted. Two, he’s in Georgia, then he has a year of school to go, his own crazy game schedule. Three, I was a real asshole and he might never feel the same way again. Need more reasons?”

“I’m interested in the real reason.”

Jack drops his hand and turns to look at his dad directly. “I don’t think he’d even consider it unless I came out.”

“And again, what’s stopping you?”

“Really, _papa_? You have to ask? All the vultures are just waiting for me to fuck up again. It was a miracle PR kept my drinking out of the press.”

Bob pulls the footstool closer and gets more comfortable. “Jack, you’ve already weathered a shit storm—as just a kid. But someone has to be the first openly gay player and who better than someone who already knows he’s strong enough to handle the backlash? I know you want your hockey to stand on its own, but frankly hockey has a lot of guys who can score points and win trophies. Maybe your destiny is different. Maybe _this_ is what you get to do for the game.”

* * *

 **dim. 28 janv. 2017** 11:41

 **Jack:** Do you ever think about coming out?

 **Kent:** We’ve already talked about this. Total career killer.

 **Jack:** What if someone else went first?

 **Kent:** Still no. Maybe when I retire?

 **Jack:** Maybe when you finally fall in love and don’t want to keep it secret.

 **Kent:** Dude, we are never ever getting back together.

 **Jack:** Funny.

 **Jack:** And does Taylor know you’re stealing her lines?

 

**Then**

**February 2016**

 

Everyone on the team liked Ransom and Holster, but following Jack Zimmermann as co-captains was a lot of pressure. Rans was overwhelmed by his advanced seminar in molecular physiology and medical school applications. He spent most of his time in the science library or nearly comatose in the attic, a few times even missing practice. And while Holster was always at practice, he had a hard time concentrating on hockey (or school), his senioritis was so severe. Graduation kept creeping closer and he kept bemoaning the fact that he had no idea what he was going to do with his life.

“Why did I major in econ?” Holster asked one afternoon as Bitty baked two desserts at once: blueberry crumble (for Holster) and honey peach pie (for Ransom). Both desserts had the advantage of working great with frozen fruit. Because February in Massachusetts.

“Lord, I do not know!” Bitty exclaimed. “I’m retaking Intro and barely understand it the second time around. The only way I can relate is to try and imagine butter as a scarce commodity.”

“How can some people be so sure of themselves?” Holster asked. “Jack had hockey. Lardo has art. Rans has med school.”

“Well, it’s great that Ransom knows what he wants, but I can’t imagine how he thinks he’s going to make it through med school without you to look after him,” Bitty said. “He can barely handle his senior seminar without collapsing under the stress. Speaking of which, did you take him the sandwich I made?—he’ll only open the attic door for you.”

Holster grabbed the roast beef sandwich from the fridge and poured a glass of juice. “Thanks for the talk,” he said as he left the room. “It’s been really helpful!”

Bitty just shook his head as he finished crimping the crust on the peach pie. These boys were all ridiculous.

 

Two nights later, Samwell right wing Nate Price fractured his metacarpal when he threw his gloves down against BC’s massive D-man, who had purposefully whacked Nater’s twin brother with a high stick. He’d be out of play for at least six weeks. Which meant their first line (now Bitty, Nick Price, and Cruz, another frog) was more like a three-legged dog than an actual offence—managing to get around, but obviously handicapped. Together the Price twins were a powerhouse, but on his own Nicky, to quote Holster, “was like Burt without Ernie—but less gay.”

It was soon clear that Samwell wouldn’t be making the ECAC playoffs. They were shutout by both Quinnipiac and Harvard on the road, then had an embarrassing loss to RPI at home, sealing their fate. Last year’s championship defeat had been a bitter end to a great season. This year their momentum just tanked and by early March they were done.

* * *

From **Butter vs Lard** , Eric Bittle’s video blog, March 8, 2016:

_Hey, y’all. It’s Eric of Butter Versus Lard, a Southern baking vlog._

_I nearly skipped this week’s video. As you can see, I’ve got a real shiner and I can just hear my mama’s voice saying, 'This is why we worry.'_

_Now, a black eye, in and of itself, would not make me shy away from my camera. I am a hockey player, after all. Bumps and bruises—and sometimes broken bones and concussions—are part of the game._

_But this injury didn’t happen on the ice. And, after some thought, I felt it was important to share what did happen. ‘Cause this sort of thing isn’t uncommon._

_You see, I was the victim of what could only be called gay bashing. Apparently I’m too homosexual to walk past Lucky’s Tavern without being jumped by a drunk townie._

_So I spent last night dealing with the Samwell PD, giving my statement, and getting checked out at the emergency room. I’m fine, bee-tee-dub. I’ve dealt with worse._

_But anyway, today we’re not baking. Instead, I’m gonna show you how to make a Southern classic, Hoppin’ John. That’s black-eyed peas, rice, and bacon. Because I still have a fucking sense of humor…_

 

# Part 16

**Now**

**March 2017**

 

“How’s life at the Piggly Wiggly?”

“Jack Zimmermann, you know very well that I don’t work at the Pig. I work at Food Lion.”

“So you’re the apex predator of birthday cakes, eh?”

Bitty laughs. His job is fine, but icing cakes at a grocery store is hardly challenging. Fortunately he’s been able to devote a lot of effort to his vlog and it’s paying off. He’s up to 10,000 subscribers. “Something like that.”

“And how’s your conditioning coming?”

Bitty licks his lips absently, and notices as Jack tracks the motion. “Do you want to see the results of my squats?” He grins when Jack blushes. “I’ve been skating regularly, but it’s not the same as playing hockey. And I have to be ready in five months, if I want to keep my scholarship.”

“Come to Providence, Bittle. I’ll reserve some time at the rink and we can practice checking.”

“You think I would benefit from having your body pressed hard against mine, do you?”

The comment hangs between them. Jack swallows. Bitty watches the movement of his throat.

“I’m serious. I never joke about hockey, remember. And I do have a guest room—if you’re worried about your reputation.”

“My reputation?! Jack, sugar, I’m pretty sure you scared away the last of my virtue the moment you stuck your fingers in my ass.”

Jack chokes and god, Bitty loves still being able to surprise Jack by being a little raw. “Oh myyyy, was ahhh bein’ indelicate?” he asks, hand to his mouth, his accent purposefully thicker than cold Karo syrup.

“I’ve missed your voice,” Jack admits.

“Well, when it comes to Southern accents, it’s easy to slip from julep-drinking gentleman to redneck hick. So hopefully I manage keep on top of it.”

“If I remember correctly, you’re plenty good on top.”

It’s Bitty’s turn to go red.

They’ve been texting, and now Skyping, for a while now and it escalated quickly from stilted how-are-you’s to this heavily innuendo-laden flirting. Next, he thinks, they’ll be sexting every night before sleep. Which…wouldn’t be unwelcome. He hasn’t been getting much action in Savannah.

“What is it? You look like you just got a good idea.”

Bitty laughs again, having fun. “Actually what I got was probably a really _bad_ idea. Please, stop me if I ever start a conversation with ‘what are you wearing?’”

Jack meets his eyes and it’s easy to forget that they are nearly a thousand miles apart. “Seriously, _Bitty._ What are you doing at the end of the month? Anything you can’t get out of? We’ve got a four game homestand before we head out for the last two of the regular season.”

“I don’t know, Jack.”

“No pressure. No expectations. Just watch some hockey and do some baking. The kitchen here feels neglected.”

“Oh, does it? So it would just be a favor—for the oven?”

“And the stove.”

* * *

Originally posted March 17, 2017:

 

**Then**

**March 2016**

 

Jack hadn’t meant to overdose back in 2009. What does a kid know about mixing drugs and alcohol? He was just grateful that Kent had been there to call the ambulance. Maybe that’s why he listened to him last year about Bittle, maybe Jack felt like he owed him.

It took a lot of booze to knock a 210-pound professional athlete on his ass, but Jack was doing it regularly. Anything to not have all this anxiety, to not have to think about his career, his girlfriend--how he didn’t get to have what he really wanted.

But then alcohol alone didn’t seem like enough, and it was easy to get his hands on a few pills. This time he’d be more careful. Because it’s not like he was trying to end up in the hospital. Or worse.

When Shitty showed up at Jack’s door in Providence not forty minutes after he’d swallowed a couple of Ativan with some vodka, Jack couldn’t muster any surprise. Shitty had always been some sort of guardian angel--ever since their frog year at Samwell. He might be the first friend Jack had ever made who didn’t give a fuck about Bad Bob or the Zimmermann legacy. And he was one of the only people who could always ease him through a panic attack.

But Jack wasn’t feeling anxious now. Jack wasn’t feeling much of anything. He swung the door wide and went to lay down.

 

Shitty was still there when Jack woke at dawn. He’d forgotten what a bitch those hangovers were, but Shits just handed him a glass of water. Waited.

Finally: “Don’t do this, brah.” Shitty scrubbed his face with both hands. “Not pills.”

“You didn’t have to come.” Jack’s voice was harsh. “Why did you? Why now?”

“Sixth sense, man; you’re my brother. You stopped returning my calls. I thought I better check on you in person.”

“I don’t need you policing me,” Jack said. “Go back to Harvard Law.” But what he really meant was _I don’t deserve to have a friend like you._

Shitty looked at him sadly. “I can go, if that’s what you really want. Or we could talk first.”

Jack turned his back to his friend. “So talk,” he told the wall.

“I’m going to spoon you, motherfucker,” Shitty said as he scooted up against Jack. He rubbed his hand down Jack’s arm, but Jack didn’t relax.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone from before.” _Not when I’m such a fuck up._

“Before?”

“Samwell. I can’t be thinking about that now. I just have to keep my head in the game.” _I’m going to fail and I don’t want anyone I care about to see it._

“If you don’t want me to visit, if you won’t return my calls, can you at least do me a favor?” Shitty asked. “Can you text me regularly—every few days—to let me know you’re alive?”

Jack shrugged noncommittally. But the next afternoon he sent Shitty a text: _Still among the living._

* * *

 **Mon, Mar 21, 2016** 8:31 AM

 **Shitty:** This fucker is a fucking mess

 **Shitty:** Hows Bits?

 **Lardo:** I’m taking him home with me on Thurs.

 **Lardo:** If noth else, will be funny to have him meet my gran.

 **Lardo:** Get his mind off crap at home. And school.

 **Lardo:** What’s with Jack?

 **Shitty:** Age old story gay man trapped in a het relationship

 **Shitty:** In love with someone else drinking too much

 **Lardo:** Fuuuuuck

 **Shitty:** Can’t help these assholes until they want help

 

# Part 17

**Now**

**March 2017**

 

The first thing Bitty does when he arrives at Jack’s is check the cabinets for baking ingredients. It makes Jack smile. The first time Bitty had visited they’d hardly made it to the bedroom, they were so hungry for each other.

But from the moment Jack picked him up at the airport, this visit has felt different, more circumspect, although Jack hopes they get there eventually. If that’s what Bitty wants, too. He shouldn’t presume.

“Jack?”

He realizes he wasn’t paying attention. “Sorry, what?”

Bitty smiles indulgently and seeing him here, in the place Jack has finally begun to think of as home, takes his breath away. _I love him_ , Jack thinks. _Again._ Maybe _still._ Maybe it never went away.

“I asked, when did you last replace this ground ginger?” Bitty sniffs at the jar. “Has this even been used since I was last here?”

Suddenly Jack doesn’t think he can hold out for eventually. It feels like they’ve waited so long already. And when he steps around the kitchen island, Bitty reads his intent and lunges forward, meeting him in a desperate kiss.

They don’t make it to the bedroom. This time they get as far as the massive leather couch in the next room, a trail of socks and t-shirts and jeans littering the floor. Jack pushes Bitty back into the cushions and drops to the floor, but doesn’t go any farther. Instead, he rests his cheek against Bitty’s bare knee and looks into his face.

“Jack? What is it, sugar?”

 _I love him,_ Jack thinks again. And even though it seems foolish, considering they haven’t even started to redefine this thing between them, he says it out loud. “I love you. Still. I never stopped loving you.”

 

He can’t seem to shut up. Even with Bitty inside him, he keeps up a broken stream of words. “Need you to stay…so good…I want…more…not Savannah…here…before Samwell…love you…your home too…yes, right there…after you graduate…”

Bitty pauses and looks at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

“God Bitty, don’t stop,” Jack whines.

“You started it.” Bitty laughs and pushes forward just a little. Jack groans. “Is this just sex talk? Or?”

Jack shakes his head. “Move in. As soon as possible. Let’s do this for real.”

“And you’re ready to come out? ‘Cause I can’t bear to keep it a secret this time.” He strokes Jack’s dick as he stares at him, trying to read Jack’s intentions.

He reaches and stills Bitty’s hand. It’s too hard to think rationally when Bitty keeps him on the edge. “I’ll come out. If we can be together, I’ll tell the world.”

* * *

From **Butter vs Lard** , Eric Bittle’s video blog, April 4, 2017:

_Hey, y’all. Look at this beautiful kitchen! It’s been over a year and a half since I last baked here, and it’s been essentially untouched in all that time. Because regardless what the owner says, poaching chicken and steaming broccoli is not actually cooking._

_(And if, perchance, someone else baked pies here, then_ lalalala _, I choose to ignore it.)_

_I’ve just finished making the demonstration portions of four upcoming Butter Versus Lard videos, so we’ll get to admire the marble countertops and the convection oven through the entire month of April. You can look forward to a variety of baked goods, from savory chicken potpie to a sinfully sweet strawberry cream cheese icebox cake._

_And depending on how things go in the world of professional hockey, there will eventually be a very special guest appearance…_

 

**Then**

**March 2016**

 

Bitty stayed at the Haus for most of spring break, refusing to go home to Georgia despite his mama’s pleading. “I have other plans,” he said and probably she knew it was a lie.

But then Lardo actually did invite him to spend a few days in Boston with her extended family.

Lardo’s gran wasn’t like any grandmother Bitty had ever met before. He was used to grandmas like Moomaw, who smelled like artificial roses and always covered her doughy softness with a calico apron. Lardo’s _Bà Ngo_ _ạ_ _i_ was tiny and bright eyed, with dangerously red fingernails. She wore long, colorful silk tunics with trousers and heels. Her English seemed to be limited to insults. She reminded Bitty of a hummingbird—if hummingbirds were both rude and carnivorous.

Bitty saw that Lardo adored her gran, so he did his best to make a good impression. One afternoon he baked a rhubarb custard pie, painstakingly cutting the top crust so it looked like lace, only to have her tell him, “American food all shit.” He could only blink rapidly in shock as Lardo laughed until she had to hold her sides.

But it was a much-needed respite from his troubles. Coach still refused to speak to him; the hockey season was over prematurely; his grades were mediocre at best.

 

At least Bitty was regularly getting some.

Until he wasn’t.

It was the middle of lacrosse season, so between games Garrett spent his spring break at his mom’s house in Springfield.

The first time Bitty saw him when they returned to campus, Garrett was in Founders with his nose deep in what looked like a comic book, but was probably a text for his German Language Graphic Novels special topic. “Hey, you” Bitty said, causing him to glance up. He didn’t look particularly happy to be interrupted, but Bitty continued anyway. A little stress relief could be good for both of them. “Have any free time in the next few days?”

“Umm,” Garrett hedged. Then, “I don’t think so…no, actually I don’t. For that.”

“Oh. Okaaay.”

“Eric, you’re great and all, but I’m seeing Seth Tobin—we’ve been rooming together on the road and I took him home over break.”

“Right. So it’s more than…”

“Yeah, we’re dating. Exclusive.”

The thing is, Bitty liked Garrett. He was friendly, intelligent, easy on the eyes—and definitely good, giving, and game. But he recognized that they didn’t actually have much in common, other than being gay athletes. They didn’t like the same movies, or find the same things funny. Garrett was even gluten intolerant, which made Bitty wring his hands in despair.

So Bitty knew it wasn’t a love connection, but it still hurt that Garrett didn’t see him as boyfriend material. That night after he left the library, he baked baguettes and shared them with his Hausmates—oven-warm, crusty, and gluten-y as fuck.

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  29 Mar 2016

TFW your FWB wants to have a relationship! . . . With someone else. D:

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  29 Mar 2016

@callista2132 I guess he’s been seeing some guy on his team for a couple of weeks. GLWT

 

# Part 18

**Now**

**March 2017**

 

When Jack gets back from yoga, Bitty is putting away groceries. “You’re leaving tomorrow,” Jack reminds him. “No need to stock up.”

“We’re having a few people over for dinner,” Bitty announces. “Petey, Samantha, and Bea. Finny. Shitty and Lardo.”

And who is Jack to argue? “Okay.”

Bitty turns then and smiles at him, all sunshine. “I love you. And I love cooking for friends and family.”

“Tell the truth, you just want to see me holding a baby.”

Bitty colors. “That’s sorta jumping ahead of ourselves, don’t you think?”

“So I’m not allowed to hold her? I’ve been told I have a knack,” Jack teases, wrapping his long arms around Bitty’s shoulders and hugging him tight.

Bitty hides his face against Jack’s shoulder. “I just mean maybe we could start with a dog,” he mumbles. And Jack feels warm all over.

 

Jack sticks his head into Georgia’s office and she motions him to come in and take a chair.

“You remember Eric, right?”

She works hard to keep a straight face. “Would this be the close friend who you gave your first goal puck to? Or the baker that sends off-plan treats every week? Or the former teammate who—totally coincidentally—shares your jersey number? Or the houseguest who invites your lineys over for dinner?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Yes, the same.”

“I seem to have a recollection.” She finally smiles, genuinely affectionate. “What can I do for you, Jack?”

“I want to come out. Publicly. I want to be with him and not have to hide it. I want to bring him to parties and have him at all my games and…” He trails off, already overwhelmed by the magnitude of what he’s asking for, and unable to voice the rest of it. _I want to know he’s waiting at home for me. I want to kiss him on the ice after winning the Cup. I want to spend my life with him._

She nods, not looking the least bit surprised. “It’s a big step—big for the game, too—but I think it will be good for you. Do you want to talk about details?—I’ve had some plans for a while now.”

“A while?”

“Pretty much since the day I ran him over at Samwell. So, two and a half years?”

“I just don’t get how it could have been so apparent to everyone but me,” Jack says, exasperated.

George shrugs. “You’re not actually a robot.”

 

A few weeks later, Jack calls Meagan to tell her that he’s publicly coming out as gay. They haven’t talked since she ended their relationship. “I just wanted you to hear it from me first, not see it online or have someone blindside you with the news.”

“I appreciate that,” she says. Then, “did you know? When we were together.”

“Yeah, I’ve always known.”

* * *

 **Meagan Reynolds** @itsmeeeeegan  23 Apr 2017

Well, that explains a lot! #vaguetweet

 

**Then**

**April 2016**

 

He’d mostly stopped drinking in front of people. Which didn’t mean that Jack stopped drinking, only that he did it at home, alone. He knew this was a problem. He’d been through all the twelve steps before, so he was pretty comfortable with step one, admission.

But knowing it was an issue didn’t keep him from pouring himself three, four, five tumblers of whiskey on his free afternoons. Then he’d close himself in his dark bedroom and try to sleep it off before he needed to be presentable—for his job, a media event, a call to his parents…a date.

A few weeks after Shitty showed up, Jack woke with a jerk, anxious and disoriented. There was someone in his apartment. He stumbled out of bed and in the direction of the noise.

It was fine, though. No intruder, just Bittle, wearing jeans and one of Jack's flannel shirts, bent over to grab something out of the back of the fridge. And it was just so good to finally see him again.

Jack knew he’d made a mistake all those months ago. Goddamn Parse. And he was paying for it now, with panic attacks and insomnia, drinking and deception. He was miserable, and not even being on the ice brought him peace. Everything was a struggle when he knew he could be exposed at any moment. Exposed as a failure, a drunk, a cheater. Outed before he was ready.

But he knew he wanted another chance. Maybe with Bitty by his side, he could get a solid grasp on his life again.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , Bitty. I’ve missed you so much,” he croaked, still groggy.

But of course it wasn’t Bitty at all. It was Meagan.

She looked up sharply. “Jesus Jack, did you just call me by some other girl’s name?”

Jack felt lightheaded, then immediately nauseated. “I…didn’t mean…”

She shut the refrigerator and turned around to get a better look at him. “Are you wasted? Do you even remember that we were going to get pizza and watch a movie tonight?”

He just stared at her. She stepped closer.

“Ugh, you smell horrible!” She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but it turned to tears.

“Oh, Jack…I…I just can’t do this anymore.” She was really crying now. “ Do you even love me? Do you really want to be with me? I want you—but it’s pretty apparent that you don’t feel the same way.”

“Meagan, I…sorry…I’m just…I feel…it’s not you.”

“You’re right, Jack. It isn’t me. I’m pretty sure it’s you, even though I don’t know what the deal is.”

She fished his key out of her pocket and dropped it with a clink to the counter. “I can let myself out.”

* * *

 **Thurs, April 14, 2016** 9:27 PM

 **Petey:** Zimm got dumped

 **Finny:** Didn’t see that coming

 **Petey:** ?? So obvs

 **Finny:** Well not to me

 **Petey:** Nothing is

 **Finny:** STFU

 **Petey:** Drinks on me tomorrow, 9pm, Elbow Room

 

# Part 19

**Now**

**April 2017**

 

The Falconers fall out of the playoffs after the first round, five hard games against the Red Wings. It’s an improvement over last year. If they can keep progressing at this rate, Jack thinks they’ll have a real shot in the next season or two. He’s finally come to realize that he’s not in competition with his dad, or with Kent Parson. He just wants to play the best possible hockey he can in order to contribute to his team. Their dreams are his dreams.

Georgia’s plans roll out and Jack finds himself the center of attention in the team’s pressroom. He wears his best suit and a new blue tie. Falconers blue, he might have said before—now he’ll be able to admit his boyfriend chose it to match his eyes. There has already been a media release and so he doesn’t make a statement. Instead, he takes three questions, all of which have his prior approval:

“In what way do you hope your announcement will influence professional hockey?”

“In January, I talked to my dad about this—coming out. My dad is Bad Bob Zimmermann—you might have heard of him.” There’s quiet laughter around the room and Jack’s lingering tension dissipates. He suddenly feels more at ease in front of the cameras than he ever has before. “He said that legacy is not about how many goals you make, how many wins your team gets, or even how often you get to lift the Cup. Legacy is making a positive, lasting mark on the game you love. And if my coming out makes it easier for anyone else in professional hockey—or in any other professional sport—to be honest and open about who they are, then I’m cementing a legacy of which I can be proud. And if I can be an example to amateur athletes, encouraging them to stay in the game and helping athletics be a more inclusive, accepting environment, then that is also a win—for all of us.”

“Jack, you were a serious contender for the Art Ross this year. How do you think this announcement will personally affect your game?”

“I don’t think my sexuality influences how I play in any way. But I wouldn’t know, would I?—There’s never been a time that I wasn’t a gay hockey player. Maybe it’s the secret to my success.” More chuckles. “But seriously, I would hope this announcement will not change how anyone plays hockey either with or against me.”

“And are you currently in a same-sex relationship?”

Jack smiles for the first time. “Yes, I am.”

* * *

From **Butter vs Lard** , Eric Bittle’s video blog, April 25, 2017:

_This morning Jack Zimmermann, member of the Providence Falconers professional hockey team, publicly came out. This was a secret that he’d kept from all but his closest friends and family for his entire life and contributed to his past issues with anxiety and substance abuse._

_Y’all, I am so proud of Jack! He’s my former teammate and captain, my very best friend and the love of my life. It takes a lot of courage when you’re in the public eye to expose yourself like he did today._

_If you’ve been following my vlog for a long time, you may have already guessed that the gorgeous kitchen from the last handful of videos is actually the kitchen in Jack’s condo in Providence. This is the final recipe I filmed there during a visit last month, but you’ll certainly be seeing it again in the future!_

_In today’s baking demo, you get to see something witnessed by very few other people: me and Jack, together in the kitchen. We’re going to show you how to make a maple sugar crusted apple pie. I’ve featured this pie on Butter Versus Lard before, but it’s Jack’s favorite…_

 

**Then**

**April 2016**

 

It wasn’t just one thing. Not the failed class or the failed hockey season. Not the prospect of losing Lardo (and Ransom and Holster). Not Coach or Garrett. NOT JACK. It was all the things.

Bitty went to talk to Coach Hall and Coach Murray. “I know this wasn’t my best year,” he said.

“Sometimes your head wasn’t in the game,” Murray agreed. “We know that you and Jack…”

“If I take a year off, but keep up with my conditioning, can I play again the next season?” Bitty interrupted, not wanting to talk about Jack. At all.

“But you’re a junior.” Hall sounded like he was missing something.

“I’m considering taking a year away from Samwell completely, and then graduating in 2018 instead.”

The coaches looked at each other for a moment. “No guarantees,” Murray finally said. “A lot can change in a year. Come to training camp that August and show us you’ve still got it.”

“But we know you can do it,” Hall added, with an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Bitty talked to Professor Atley, his adviser, and to Financial Aid. He gave Wicky his dibs, with the understanding that he’d get his room back when Wicks graduated.

Then he called his mama.

“I’ll get a job. And a roommate,” he explained to her. “I’m not giving up on my education; I’m just taking a break. This year has been harder than you know.”

“Is it Jack?” she asked.

Bitty groaned. “Not everything is about Jack Zimmermann!”

 

After the future being nothing but a big question mark, suddenly plans fell into place for Bitty’s friends. Lardo was moving in with Shitty (“Just as bros!”) and Holster was following Ransom to Baltimore (“Best bros for life!”), where Rans had been accepted to the med school at Johns Hopkins. Nicky, Nater, Wicks, and Cruz were moving into the Haus, having secured dibs. Ollie O’Meara would captain the 2016-17 SMH team.

Bitty felt better than he had in a long time. He studied and he baked. He had an epic Spring C that may or may not have involved a senior chemistry major. But he still wasn’t sure what was coming next.

In the lazy lull of spring semester Reading Week, Lardo and Bitty curled up on opposite ends of the couch to watch _The Danish Girl_. “Hey,” Lardo said, pushing her toes against Bitty’s thigh until he looked over. “I talked to Shitty, and we think you should come stay with us until you figure out what you want to do.”

“Larissa Duan, you. are. the. best! I could marry you!”

“Aw, Bitty, you’d give up your gold star for little-ole’ me?!”

Bitty laughed and tackled her into the couch. “As if you’d really want it…”

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  15 April 2016

Just made the second most significant decision of my life.

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  15 April 2016

Most significant: coming to Samwell in the first place.

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  26 April 2016

Chowder: Welcome to the squad! 2018 rulz! This is so cool!!

Dex: Chow, you realize it means no pie next year, right?

C: Noooo!

 

# Part 20

**Now**

**May 2017**

 

Bitty is packing some non-essentials in a box when his phone rings. It’s Coach. For the first time since, well, since sometime in 2015. Bitty doesn’t hesitate to pick it up. He’s been waiting for this call for a very long time.

“I’m calling for your mother,” Coach starts. This is the way of some fathers and sons, easing into a conversation and deflecting the emotional part onto someone else. It’s hard for some people to talk about feelings. “She saw the news and she’s concerned.”

Bitty doesn’t have to ask what news. Jack’s press conference was two days ago and it had been giffed and Tweeted and Tumbled and YouTubed to death already. He’s surprised his mama hadn’t called immediately after it aired.

“I’m actually doing fine, Coach,” Bitty says. “Better all the time.” He hears his father exhale loudly in frustration.

“So either…better because…not with…or are you?” He trails off.

Bitty closes his eyes, squeezes the bridge of his nose. This conversation is already surreal, and it’s barely begun.

“Jack and I are together. Again. As boyfriends. As two adult men who love each other.” He barely refrains from adding ‘and have sex.’ That would just be mean and his father is obviously trying.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Coach says and then bellows, “Suuuzaaaannnnne.” Bitty suddenly finds himself on speaker with both his parents.

And that’s how he ends up going home to Madison, Georgia to spend his twenty-second birthday with his mama, Coach, Moomaw and a bunch of cousins. He has to excuse himself to his bedroom twice to text Jack strings of happy tears emojis.

 

Jack Zimmermann drives a brand new Ford Lincoln Navigator. Or at least he does when he knocks on the Bittles’ front door to help move Bitty to Providence. It looks ostentatious, all shiny and black, parked next to Coach’s faded blue pickup and Jack is clearly embarrassed by it when Bitty’s mama opens the door and squeaks in surprise.

Bitty pushes past her and throws himself into Jack’s arms. Jack, who is publicly his boyfriend. Jack, who looks as happy as Bitty has ever seen him. “U-Hauls are not just for lesbians,” he chirps. Jack pinches him in retaliation.

“Hello, Mrs. Bit…I mean, Suzanne,” Jack says over the top of Bitty’s head. “Hello, Coach Bittle.”

Bitty wriggles out of Jack’s embrace and turns to watch his father shake Jack’s hand. Coach looks decidedly uncomfortable, but he gets an A for effort. “Jack.”

“Oh my stars, where are my manners?” Bitty exclaims. “Jack, sweetheart, there’s tea in the kitchen for you and I made a pie.”

“I’m shocked. When did you learn to bake?” Jack smiles at his own chirp, and squeezes Bitty’s waist. “ _Maman_ and _papa_ say hello, by the way. I think they’re already hoping your parents will be able to come to Providence when they’re visiting in August. Do a two-families thing?”

And Bitty thinks that’s the best idea ever. Coach is going to love Alicia, he just knows it. And his mama and Bad Bob…well, Bittles are drawn to Zimmermanns like ants to sugar. It’s just a fact and there’s no use fighting it.

* * *

From **Butter vs Lard** , Eric Bittle’s video blog, May 9, 2017:

[Bitty] _Y’all have heard a lot about my mama, and I’m just tickled to have her as a guest today on Butter Versus Lard. So Mama Bittle, what are we making today?_

[Suzanne] _Well, Dicky, we’re going to make…Oh, no! I called you_ Dicky _on camera! Can we start over?_

[Bitty] _No, mama. It’ll be fine. Just tell ‘em what we’re making._

[Suzanne] _Cherry limeade pound cake!_... _Now where’s that jar of cherries? You wanted me to hold that up. I can’t find the jar! Fuckity fuck!!..._ [she looks scandalized] … _And now we’re really going to have to start over! Young man, turn. this. thing. off._

[Bitty] _Nope! My followers will love it just as it is…_

 

# Part 21

**Later**

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 10 May 2017

Truck is packed. I’m moving north. How is this my life?

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease ･ 22 May 2017

Congratulations Samwell College class of 2017!

 

**Later Still**

 

Originally posted May 15, 2018:

* * *

From **My Drunk Kitchen: Pucking Good Gravy** , June 7, 2018:

[Hannah Hart, Bitty, and Jack pop up from behind a counter.]

[Jack, like a robot] _Boop. Boop._

[Bitty to Hannah] _I told you he’d be great at that part!_ [both laugh hysterically]

[Hannah] _Today’s guests are boyfriends Eric Bittle of the baking channel Butter Versus Lard and Jack Zimmermann, center for the Providence Falconers hockey team._

[Bitty] _And we’re making buttermilk biscuits with mushroom gravy!_

[Hannah] _Hopefully it won’t taste like_ shiit _-ake!_ [Bitty pretends to look offended] _Shall we drink?_

[Hannah and Bitty clink their wine glasses together, while Jack looks on, amused]

[Hannah] _So Jack do you do much cooking?_

[Jack] _I mostly just like to keep Eric company in the kitchen._

[Hannah] _Oh, so you’re just there for_ morel _support?_

[Jack] _And because I’m a real_ fungi.

[Hannah to Bitty, sounding surprised] _He’s funny!_

[Bitty, laughing] _He definitely grows on you…_

**Much, Much Later**

 

 **NHL** ✓ @NHL  23 June 2021

.@ProvFalcs captain Jack Zimmermann receives King Clancy Trophy for his leadership and humanitarian efforts #NHLAwards

* * *

 **You Can Play Project** ✓ @YouCanPlayTeam  23 June 2021

Congratulations Jack Zimmermann (@JackZimm15) for NHL’s King Clancy award recognizing his contribution to LGBTQ equality in pro sports

* * *

 **Eric Bittle** ✓ @omgcheckplease  3 July 2021

What a year for @JackZimm15 and myself!! Butter vs Lard cookbook, second #StanleyCup, King Clancy Trophy, #JustMarried

* * *

Originally posted July 5, 2021:

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm [takumiismypatronus](http://takumiismypatronus.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr as well. Or if remix culture amuses you, check out my side blog [omghamiltonplease](http://omghamiltonplease.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  
> 
>  _Specific warnings:_ In Part 13/Then, Coach asks if Jack is a "cocksucker, too?" and gives Bitty the silent treatment in response to his coming out. He comes around by the end. In Part 15/Then, Bitty has a black eye as a result of homophobic violence perpetrated by a random person. It happens offscreen, and is mentioned on his vlog.
> 
>  
> 
> _Additional notes:_  
> 
> 
>   * Let's just pretend that no new social media formats will become popular in the next five years.
>   * I have this headcanon that Finny is _really_ bad at meeting women, but then he meets The One and they get married in Vegas and live happily ever after. She doesn't mind that it can take him literally a year before something sinks in. And she also loves rom-coms.
>   * This Kent Parson isn't a bad guy. He's just self-centered, even though he says that he tries to do what's right for Jack. At some point, Bitty stops blaming Kent for Jack's bad choices, and they become (sorta) friends.
>   * Also, I once read a headcanon where Kent Parson and Taylor Swift know each other. And that seems plausible. Because Vegas. So that explains Jack's comment about Kent stealing her lyrics--lyrics which Jack recognizes because of Bitty's TSwift phase.
>   * [My Drunk Kitchen](https://www.youtube.com/user/MyHarto) is a real thing and Hannah Hart really is both ridiculous and engaging. She likes bad puns.
> 



End file.
